


Where I Stood

by gangnamstiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Off-screen Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gangnamstiles/pseuds/gangnamstiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is thirty when the wheels of Derek’s car hit Beacon Hills again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where I Stood

**Author's Note:**

> There may be some plot holes, but I'll go back through and edit at a later date. I'm borrowing a friend's computer because mine decided to shit all over itself. This is my contribution to the Teen Wolf Superbang. Link to my dearest artist in the end notes!

He knows it’s stupid, standing here in front of Stiles and expecting him to protest. He’s been thinking about this moment for the past three years. He had thought that when the time came, it would be easier to get the words out. He thought that the three years of learning how to trust people again would have paid off in other ways. Like being able to express himself. He looks at Stiles and his plaid shirt and his growing hair and his wide brown eyes. He looks at Stiles and can’t forget all the times he had his life threatened and it was Derek’s fault. He traces the outline of Stiles’ mouth with his eyes and licks his lips on impulse. He thinks if he could kiss those soft lips one more time, he might change his mind. So he doesn’t. He bites down on the inside of his cheek and exhales.

“I’m leaving, Stiles.” He watches how Stiles’ face contorts briefly, then completely masks over. Derek’s heart throbs when Stiles laughs and shakes his head. He shoves a pale hand through his hair and Derek can tell he’s shaking. He can hear his bones vibrating together. He can smell salt where the tears are welling in his eyes.

“You can’t just leave, Derek,” he says, his brown eyes coloring with anger. Derek inhales. He staring with fear and guilt and hostility rolling off his skin like waves of thick smoke. “Whatever I did, I promise—“

“It wasn’t you, Stiles. It’s not your fault and it never will be.”

“Then what is this about? If you’re having another one of your ‘I’m not good enough I don’t deserve you’ moments, then stop. Just stop. I’ve told you how many times, Derek. _I love you_.”

“Stiles!” Derek cuts him off with a snarl and immediately regrets it. Stiles flinches back and catches himself and straightens his shirt. Derek hears his heart hammering in his chest and wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around Stiles and tell him to forget it. His fingers twitch at his sides. “These past three years of knowing you have made me realize that I can’t do this. You have taught me so much, Stiles, so much. And I thank you for that.” Derek swallows, he’s choking on his words. “You mean more to me than anybody I have ever loved. You’ve made me learn to trust myself and so I know.” Derek exhales and bites his cheek. “I know that this is what I need to do. You have people here that will love you more than I can right now. People that can actually protect you.” Derek takes a step back. “Scott’s the alpha now.”

“Derek, don’t. Please, don’t.” Stiles’ voice breaks. He takes another step and fights against every instinct he has to kiss Stiles one last time. When Stiles reaches for him, Derek steps back again. “So this is it? I just have to listen to you say those things and just accept it? Just let you go?” His eyes are hot with tears and his fists are clenched.

“Yes.” It should be that simple, right?

“But if I ever wanted to leave, you’d hiss and growl and whine until I changed my mind.” Derek falters. Stiles laughs humorlessly and tugs on his hair. “But I just have to let you go. So go then! If you’re gonna make this whole speech about how you need to leave, then just leave!” Stiles yells. Derek’s only heard his voice get that loud and that serious on two other occasions. Once, the first time Derek and Scott got in a fight. Derek had taken a chunk out of Scott’s side and Stiles had laid one on him. Derek could honestly say that it was probably on the top ten list of most terrifying things he’d ever seen in his life. Albeit, watching his house burn is the first nine. Derek doesn’t want to think of the second time. Not right now. “Go, Derek! Just leave. Run away and keep _fucking_ running,” he snarls. So Derek grits his teeth. It’s better this way. If Stiles hates him for this, then it’s better this way. Derek wishes he could make Stiles angrier, make _sure_ that he would hate Derek for the rest of his life and never want Derek back. But Derek already can’t stand to see the way Stiles is looking at him.

“Goodbye, Stiles.” He says it blankly, at least he hopes he does. He doesn’t wait for Stiles’ reaction. Just turns and gets in his Camaro and drives. He doesn’t stop driving, not until he coasts into a gas station on the Oregon state line running on fumes.

 

Stiles is thirty when the wheels of Derek’s car hit Beacon Hills again. Derek’s lost track of how old he is. He stopped celebrating birthdays a long time ago. He just knows that his bones feel old. His body aches constantly. It has since he left. Derek knows exactly why, but won’t admit it, especially not to himself. He eases his foot off the gas pedal and coasts through town. This place doesn’t feel like home. Even though he knows Stiles is here, knows he should feel relieved, Derek feels a heavy weight settle into his chest. He doesn’t know why he came back here. He can’t just barge back into Stiles’ life and expect everything to be better.

But he’s found peace. Derek is finally at peace with everything. With himself. The guilt wasn’t easy to wash away, but Derek managed it. He’d done a lot of meditating, something he’d never been able to do before, when he did nothing but think about how everything was going to shit. After a while, he began to realize that forgiving himself was what he had to do, even if it wasn’t the easiest.

He drives his car deep into the woods, avoiding his old house. Last he heard the thing had finally fallen in on itself. He gets out of the car and rolls up the sleeves of his black button down shirt. He leaves the door open and jogs up to a rock jutting out of the hillside.

He howls. It’s low and lonely and soon as it leaves his throat, it grows. It swells in his chest and his voice breaks and the sound dies in the back of his mouth. He’s panting and staring at the ground, waiting. He hears Erica’s voice first, then Boyd, then Isaac and his heart is beating high in his throat. Finally, _finally_ , Scott’s voice breaks above them all. Derek inhales and can’t help the smile that crosses his face. Even if he isn’t alpha, he has pack. He’ll always have pack.

Derek hears the leaves crunch behind him and he whips around. Already, Erica is walking out of the woods. Her hand is laced with Boyd’s and Derek sees the gold ring glinting on her left hand. He looks at them, his eyes wide, waiting. Erica breaks away from Boyd and runs toward Derek and knocks him flat on his back, his head cracking on the ground and leaving his vision white. She’s sitting on his chest when he refocuses, and grinning. Derek watches tears form in her eyes.

“If I ever hear an omega’s howl in your voice again, Derek,” she starts, but lets the sentence die. Derek sits up on his elbows and she wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him. “Welcome home.” Derek laughs, actually laughs. Because even though there’s about one hundred and thirty pounds of beta on his chest, he feels light. She slides off of him and helps him stand up. Boyd’s looking at him critically.

“You’re lucky we stuck around here,” he says finally. He offers his hand and Derek takes it and pulls him in for a brief hug.

“I’m lucky,” Derek affirms. His head snaps up and he jerks away when he hears the roar of his engine. He watches as Isaac leans out of his driver’s seat and stands up. The smile on his face is unreal. “Lucky the years haven’t turned you three bitter towards me.”

“You could have been a good alpha, Derek. But you never trusted us, so we stopped trusting you,” Erica says from his side. Derek looks down at her, his eyebrow raised. She grins at him and pulls away and back to Boyd. “Let’s go find Scott, Derek.” She holds out her hand and Derek takes it. He feels safer, but his chest is still aching. He looks back over the hillside, down at the town. He knows that Stiles is there somewhere. Knows that he heard the howl. But they leave his Camaro parked up there and start running.

The rush he feels is strange to him. He hasn’t run with a pack in over a decade. He’d settled down and got a job and went his own way, but now. Feeling crisp autumn air running over his skin and fresh dirt under his feet, he doesn’t know how he thought he’d ever be able to survive without this. He hears Erica laugh and Derek grins. There’s no pressure here. Just his heartbeat and the heartbeat of another, further away, slower, steadier. He’ll find it again, and when he does he’s not going to be afraid of the results. Because sometimes two people are meant to be together that you never thought could be together.

 

It doesn’t surprise Derek that Scott is still living with his mom. He knocks on the door as Erica and Isaac and Boyd stand behind him. It’s Mrs. McCall that answers the door. She looks shocked. So shocked in fact, that her eyes bug and she drops the mug she had been holding. Derek catches it before it hits the ground. He holds it out to her wordlessly and she takes it.

“Scott! You have a visitor!” She calls, stepping away from the door.

“I know,” the voice that responds is strong, not the weak barely-post-pubescent boy that Derek had known before. Scott enters his line of sight and Derek exhales. “It’s time you took back what belongs to you, Derek.”

“Scott—“

“You can’t tell me no, Derek. I won’t have you in my pack,” Scott says. Derek can barely smile.

“I figured we could talk first,” he offers, his voice light. Scott relaxes his shoulders and grins, that familiar goofy smile of his.

They sit down in the living room, minus Melissa. Derek hears the bath start running upstairs. “Does Stiles know you’re here?” Scott asks. The back of Derek’s throat tingles.

“No,” he replies, sighing a bit. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You could try apologizing. Stiles doesn’t hold grudges.”

“I know he doesn’t. And I know he’s rationalized it in more ways than I can count, but I don’t know how I can even start to make this right.” Scott nods and leans back in his chair. Derek looks over at the doorway as Erica brings in a plate of reheated food and a mug of coffee. “You’re an angel,” Derek says, taking the plate as she offers it. He notes the strange look she gives him. “I’ve changed,” he offers as an explanation.

“Not too much, I hope,” she replies, setting the coffee on the side table. She slides on to the couch between Isaac and Boyd and grabs a blanket off the back of the couch. Derek is shoving a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth when Erica brightens, as if she suddenly remembered something. “Who’s watching the kids?” Derek tries not to choke.

“Allison, remember?” Scott chides and Erica huffs and relaxes.

He sets down his plate. “ _Kids_?”

Boyd laughs. “Yes, kids, Derek. We’re almost thirty. A little past peak performance, if you know what I mean.” Isaac snorts.

“Who?”

“I have one,” Erica says, smiling at Boyd as she talks. “Natalie.” Derek nods. “Scott and Allison have a little boy.”

“Are they?” He trails off. Scott huffs a bit.

“Natalie is a werewolf. Alex is thankfully not.” Derek exhales and sinks down into the chair, his food forgotten.

“How old are they?”

“They’re both six.”

Derek nods. “Has Natalie had any trouble?”

Erica grins and winks. “She’s like her mother.”

Derek ignores the question about Stiles that’s hanging on the edge of his lips. “What about Jackson?”

“He left town a few years ago. He’s working as an adoption lawyer in San Francisco now.”

“He found an anchor?” He sees Scott grimace.

“Danny.” Derek’s eyebrows shoot up. “Not like that, dude!” Scott fixes himself and narrows his eyes a bit. “Hell, maybe like that. But they’ve been friends since they were babies. Danny’s working with an activist group down there.”

“What about Lydia?” Derek’s almost afraid to hear the answer. The fear triples when he feels tension strike through the room. They’re all looking at each other and Derek holds his breath. He half jumps when the doorbell rings. He doesn’t know how he missed it, that scent that’s practically pulling him now. Familiar, but still so foreign to him. His heartbeat picks up and he feels the second one start thrumming faster as well. But he stays still as Scott gets up to answer it.

The first thing Derek realizes is that a streak of bright ginger goes flying past him and on to the chair where Scott was sitting.

“I got Uncle Scotty’s chair first! I’m the alpha!” A shrill voice calls out. Derek feels like he’s watching a television show. He looks at the doorway when Stiles walks in with a child on his hip and another at his heels. Derek stands, by reflex, and can’t help that he stares.

“So that was you?” Stiles speaks and Derek feels his entire world start caving in. That control he’d built up for so long is collapsing in on itself and he’s being assaulted with too much right now. He starts to think that he should have called first. “I’m glad you’re back in town. Scott’s a worse alpha than you ever were.” And suddenly Derek snaps back to reality. Stiles is smiling at him. It’s a sober smile, not one of the carefree happy-to-the-core ones that he had left behind, and Derek can feel the lies dripping off his words. “Uncle Isaac,” he says, switching his attention to the beta. “Take the twins and Gracie and go play?” Isaac slides off the couch and walks over and scoops up both of the smaller children attached to their father and tucks them under his arms.

“Come on, Grace! Bet you can’t beat me to the basement!” He calls, grinning when the first blur of red squeals and bounces off the chair and starts running. Derek stands stock still, staring at the ground, his mind in a total mess.

“Do you mind if I leave them here for tonight?” Derek hears Stiles talking to Scott in a low voice. “Dad needs help down at the station. You know the move is screwing with their paperwork and whatever.”

“Yeah, dude, no it’s fine. Probably end up taking them to the den with the other two. Allison is there now.”

Derek’s literally on the edge of having an emotional crisis. He swallows and licks his lips and sits down. When he picks up the coffee mug, he’s shaking. How the hell did he think he could handle seeing Stiles? Did he think that Stiles would wait for him? Did he think that he could come back to Beacon Hills after all of that and everything would be the exact way he left it? He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down, but part of his inability to do so is the second heartbeat hammering away in his head. He’s stupidly glad that he still has that effect on Stiles. He hears the door close and Stiles’ scent leaves with the sound of a quiet engine. Derek exhales and takes a drink of coffee and sets the mug down. When he looks up, Erica and Boyd and Scott are all looking at him.

He smiles easily, too easily. “I have no idea why I came back here.”

“It’s where you belong, Derek. You’ll figure it out,” Scott says. He jerks his head toward the stairs. “Come on, we have business.” Derek stands up and takes a final sip of coffee and follows Scott up the stairs. They get to his room and Scott shuts and locks the door. “Do you want the alpha back?”

Derek looks at him. It’s a question he’s been mauling over for a while. He knows he can handle it now. He has resources, he has emotional strength, he has his ability to actually lead. But there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to be alpha. He wants to be an average guy with a job and a mate and kids because he’s gotten used to the settled down life. He doesn’t know if he can handle the excitement of being alpha. Not to mention being a beta would take the risk of Stiles’ life down a few notches.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully, and he doesn’t feel ashamed to say it to Scott’s face. Scott nods and exhales.

“Well, you’re pack. Hell if I’m going to let you wander around here as an omega, Derek. And when you’re ready to take the alpha back, it’s yours. Beacon Hills has always been Hale territory. I feel wrong for taking it from you.”

“I gave it to you, Scott.”

“Yeah, but some facts are more important than others.” Derek falls silent and looks at the floor. His breath leaves him at once as he’s shoved against a wall. Scott’s nails are digging into his shoulders and when Derek looks up, Scott’s eyes are red. “I swear to god, Derek, if you pull another stunt like you did when you left, you won’t be around much longer. Stiles has been through too much too quickly for you to worm your way back in and leave him in the dust again. And if he tells you to back off, you better fucking back off.” And then Scott’s gone and the door is open and Derek is rubbing his hands over his face. He really doesn’t know what he expected. He just knows that Stiles’ heart is still beating beside his. He knows that he has a chance. He knows that he has to keep walking.

 

Derek walks with them over to what Scott had called the den. It’s an old warehouse, but Derek bets it’s actually rented out. It’s in his line of sight, but there’s no direct route to it. So they’re walking down the street in a pack at about ten o’clock at night. Derek has one of the twins half attached to his leg. He can’t remember which one is which, but their names are James and Steven. He thinks he remembers James smelling slightly more of flowers and Steven more like dirt, but they both smell like Stiles so much that he’s getting confused. The one walking with him has the leg of Derek’s jeans in his tiny fist and his other thumb in his mouth. He’s not sure why the kid’s so attached to him, but since Derek walked down into the basement after Scott’s rant, he hasn’t left Derek alone.

It’s not like Derek minds. He likes kids. He loves kids, actually. He never saw having them himself, but there was something about their innocence and their constant happiness that made him want to be around them. A small hand slides into his and he looks over at his other side.

“Were you the alpha before Uncle Scotty?” She asks. Derek’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Yes,” he replies. He notices how Scott keeps looking back at them. The other twin is asleep on his shoulder. He looks back down at Grace.

“Were you better at it?”

Derek smiles. “Not better. I’d say we’re about the same.”

“Well you look like an alpha,” she says matter-of-factly. “I think it’s because Uncle Scotty can’t grow facial hair that looks good, just like Daddy. Mommy told him to never even try growing it out because he’s always had a baby face. But I don’t think Daddy looks like a baby. I think he looks like a Daddy.” Derek laughs a bit. She’s obviously Stiles’ kid. He feels a pang in his chest and looks back forward. “Why’d you leave?” He exhales slowly.

“Back then, it wasn’t safe for your family if I stayed. “

“Am I allowed to call you Derek? Uncle Isaac told me to call you Mr Hale or Uncle Derek, but you’re not my uncle, so can I call you Derek?”

“You can call me whatever you’d like, Grace,” he replies. She squeals and holds his hand tighter.

“You’re my new best friend, Derek!” She says, hopping a bit.

“Dunno if Stiles is gonna like that one,” he hears Erica say under her breath, but she’s grinning like hell and it makes Derek smile. On his other side, he feels a tug and slows to a stop. The twin beside him is shuffling and his eyes are drooping. His hand falls out of his mouth and jars him awake. Derek leans down and scoops him up in his arm and holds him. _Flowers_. James wriggles in his arm and snuggles into his chest and Derek’s heart can’t help but speed up. When he looks up, Scott’s staring at him and Erica and Boyd have kept walking. Isaac slows to a stop beside them and looks at Derek as well.

“What?” Derek says, his eyebrows raised.

“Stiles really is…” Isaac trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish.

“Yes,” Derek affirms, tightening his lips and keeping the swell of emotion in his chest at bay. “He is.”

“Daddy’s what?” Grace asks, tugging on Derek’s hand. “What is he?”

Derek smiles. “A very good friend of mine.”

Grace brightens. “Does that mean you get to babysit me now? Daddy’s working all the time now and Auntie is always the one that watches us during the day, but she’s really boring sometimes and you’re new and I like you!” Derek laughs. He really can’t get over how amazingly real this is and how much of _Stiles_ this girl is.

“Allison is not boring!” Scott replies incredulously. Grace sticks her tongue out at him and grins. He sticks his tongue right back at her. Derek rolls his eyes. He’s not used to this whole family thing. Even leaving and trying to get a hold of himself, he’d done it alone. He swallows past the lump rising in his throat.

“What’s wrong, Derek?” Grace says from beside him. He opens his eyes. He knows there are no tears in his eyes and his face is completely placid.

“What?”

Grace pouts. “Never mind. I’m doing that thing that Mommy always got mad at me for.” Derek furrows his eyebrows. “Come on! I wanna play with Natalie!” She shouts, tugging on Derek’s hand. They start walking again.

“You’re going to bed when we get there, Gracie,” Scott replies. Grace huffs. “You’re lucky you got to play before we left.” She huffs again and presses closer to Derek, almost tripping him.

“You’re not my favorite anymore, Uncle Scotty!” She whines. Scott laughs.

“Okay, Grace,” he says gently. They walk in silence for the rest of the way. Derek feels James wiggle against him again. He wakes up and wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and buries his face into his chest. Derek can feel the trail of drool sinking in through his shirt and he grimaces. As much as he loves kids, children’s slobber will never be on his list of favorites. Scott opens the door and they walk up some stairs to a completely renovated flat. It’s certainly a step up from the train yard. In the very first room is a bunch of couches set up around a plush carpet covered in toys. The rest of the place is all hardwood floors and high-ceilinged and open. It takes Derek a second to realize that there are kids asleep on one of the couches. There’s a tanned girl with bright blonde hair sprawled over the cushions and a little boy with his feet up on the back of the couch and his head lolling off the front. Derek raises an eyebrow.

Grace lets go of his hand and leaps on to the couch next to Natalie. He blinks when Natalie barely wakes up and throws her blanket over Grace and they snuggle. As he walks over, Derek sees that one of the couches has a guard rail on the open side. Scott sets Steven down on that one and motions for Derek to set James down as well. As soon as Derek pries the little boy off of his shoulders, he starts thrashing. So Derek freezes. He writhes around and clamps back on to Derek’s neck. He stands up and looks at Scott, his eyebrow raised and questioning. Scott shrugs and walks away.

So Derek sits down on another couch and leans back against it. He exhales and sinks into it, closing his eyes. He’s trying to take all of this in. There’s a kid – Stiles’ _son_ – asleep on him and he’s part of Scott’s pack and he doesn’t know if he wants to be the alpha again. He feels like there’s too much to think about, but he takes in a breath and holds it. He’s here right now and that’s all that matters. It’s a lot of information to process at once, so he’ll take his time. For once, he has time.

James slides off of his shoulders and plops in to Derek’s lap with his head on his chest. Derek opens an eye and looks down at him. James is staring right back. It almost makes him sick, how much his eyes are like Stiles’. He pets his hand through the kid’s curly brown hair and his eyes close. He snuggles against Derek and soon his breathing evens out. Derek closes his eyes as well and sighs. He feels the couch shift and opens an eye. Grace is sitting next to him and flops sideways against his arm. He smiles a bit and closes his eyes. He feels the couch shift again and almost laughs. When he looks over, Natalie is laying against Grace’s side. He hears feet pad across the carpet and looks over. Alex is standing in front of him and pouting. Derek smiles and pats the couch on his other side. Alex brightens and crawls up and sprawls once more. Derek looks over at where Steven is soundly asleep, glad of that fact because he doesn’t know how he could fit one more kid on top of him. So Derek closes his eyes and lets himself sleep.

 

He wakes up to the sound of voices.

“So this is just how you found them?” The back of his neck prickles at the sound of that voice.

“Yeah,” it’s Scott that replies, and there’s a grin in the word.

“And he said he didn’t want the alpha back?”

“He said he didn’t know. And I told him that he can take it back any time.”

“Why wouldn’t he want it back?” Scott doesn’t reply. “What?” He still doesn’t reply. Derek can hear both of their hearts speeding in their chests. “You don’t think—Oh, no. No, no, no, dude. _No_. He’s not refusing it because of _me_.” Stiles half hisses it and it makes Derek’s heart hurt. “He doesn’t care about me like that, Scott. You’re being ridiculous.”

“ _Stiles_. Do you remember how sick you were that year after he left?”

“Well, yeah, but—“

“It wasn’t a normal sickness. You remember what Deaton said? Do you remember how you described it?”

Stiles sighs. “Like somebody had literally ripped me in half and tried to superglue the pieces back together,” he replies resignedly.

“Exactly. Just go sleep before your kids wake up and they don’t let you.” Derek hears Stiles mutter something that he chooses not to hear and his footsteps retreat. He opens his eyes and sees Scott looking at him.

“Why didn’t you tell him I was awake?”

“Because he’d never talk about those things in front of you willingly.”

“You’re a dog, Scott.”

“You are too.”

Derek grins, but it slides off his face almost as soon as it starts. He takes stock of his situation. James is still asleep in the same position, but Alex’s feet are on Derek’s head and Grace and Natalie are sprawled over each other. It’s enough for him to be able to wiggle out and stand up. He sets James down on the other couch beside Steven and crosses his fingers that he won’t wake up. He audibly exhales when he stays asleep.

Derek peels his shirt off his skin where it’s stuck with sweat and drool. He should be grossed out. He should be disgusted. But he’s really not. Derek looks at Scott.

“Nobody ever said anything. Where’s Lydia?” He furrows his eyebrows as Scott’s face darkens.

“Come here,” he says, jerking his head toward the kitchen. Derek follows him.

“What is it?”

“She’s dead, Derek,” he says it low. Derek jerks a bit, his eyes wide. “She never was the same after everything that happened. Her immunity,” Scott stops and takes a breath. “It became a catalyst. That’s the way she described it. She was immune to the bite and the poison, but whatever gave her that immunity prevented her body from fighting off normal human things. Deaton said it appeared to be cancer to doctors who didn’t know any better. She died two years ago. She got sick after the twins were born and never recovered.”

“Are the kids immune?”

Scott nods. “Deaton said they are, but I don’t think we’ll ever actually find out.”

“And Stiles?”

“It’s complicated.” Derek sighs. It’s always fucking complicated. “They had time to get everything in order, but he still took it hard. They never got married, but that was Lydia’s choice—“

“She said she never felt right marrying me when I had somebody else that I belonged with.” Derek freezes. He doesn’t know how he didn’t hear Stiles come in to the room. “I didn’t get any secondhand immunity, for the record,” he continues, sliding past Scott and getting a glass of water. Derek watches him. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if he even should say anything. Stiles looks directly at him. “I told her that I didn’t understand how I could belong to anybody else when I loved her as much as I did. And she told me. She told me that I was stupid for letting you leave, but that she loved me more than she loved anybody she’d ever dated or would date. That I was the one guy that she wasn’t afraid to be herself around. But she wouldn’t take away your anchor.” Stiles’ hand tightens on the glass. “That she wouldn’t take away your _mate_.” Stiles hisses the word and it practically guts Derek.

“Stiles—“

“Shut up, Derek,” he says, turning his eyes back to the floor and leaving. Derek feels anger bubbling in his chest. Part of him knows it’s Stiles’ anger and fear mixed with Derek’s own guilt. Another part of him wants to act on that rage and break something. But he inhales slowly and closes his eyes. He opens his eyes when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He sees Scott looking at him sympathetically.

“It’s gonna take time, Derek.”

He nods. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Does that include taking the alpha back?”

Derek hits his hand off his shoulder. “Scott.”

“Hey, you’re not gonna hear the end of it until you take it back.”

“Then we’ll make a deal.”

“I’m listening,” Scott replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ll take the alpha back when Stiles lets me back into his life.”

Scott pauses a bit. “It’s a deal.”

“And you had better not interfere. This is Stiles’ choice and if you try and influence him, the deal’s off and you’ll be the alpha until you die.” He feels the lilt in his voice, the old gruffness that had him isolated. He can’t help how his teeth clench and how his fists are tight and how his hands are shaking. He feels his skin ripple and he closes his eyes and breathes. Thinks about those caramel brown eyes and loosens his grip on his self. “Am I clear?” He finally asks, opening his eyes and looking at Scott, who’s staring at him like he just got punched.

“Perfectly.”

 

“Derek!” A shrill voice squeaks. Derek is jarred awake by a small body pouncing on top of him. He opens his eyes and Grace is sitting on his chest and grinning down at him. He groans a bit and flops his back on to his pillow. “Wake up and play with me!” She whines, bouncing on his chest.

“Gracie,” he says. She pouts at him. So he closes his eyes and when he opens them, they’re glowing blue and he fake roars at her. She giggles and screams and wiggles away from him, but he catches her in his arms and she keeps trying to get away from him.

“Oh my gosh!” She squeals, finally slipping out of his arms and scampering to the doorway. Derek sits up in the bed and lurches forward to stand up. “Zombie werewolf!” She shrieks and runs out the door. Derek hears her laugh retreat to the main room and relaxes his arms at his sides. He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, an easy smile on his lips. The guest room is simple and dark. The bed is a double – Derek figures because sometimes Scott and Allison will stay here together – and there’s a dresser with a tv on top and a small bathroom attached. Scott’s extended it to him for as long as he needs it, and since Erica and Boyd actually own the flat, they’ve basically dubbed it as Derek’s room. Erica actually mentioned to him that she wanted it in the plan just in case Derek came back.

He scratches his chest and pulls off his sleep shirt and tugs on another one from his bag at the foot of the bed. He leaves on his pajama pants, however, because they’re comfortable as hell and if he’s going to be playing with kids, he’s going to be comfortable.

A scent of calla lilies and Stiles hits the room and Derek looks towards the door. James is leaning against the doorframe with his thumb in his mouth and expectant eyes turned upon Derek. There’s something eerie about the twins. They’re both two, but they don’t speak. They don’t make noises or babble or smile. Typically, they just stare. James is always sucking his thumb and Steven has a habit of twirling the bit of hair behind his ear. But Derek feels something from them. This idea that they’re both something more extraordinary than human.

James trots in to the room and grabs the side of Derek’s pants and starts walking back towards the door. Derek follows and lets James lead him out to the kitchen, where Isaac is cooking Sunday morning breakfast and Boyd and Erica are watching the kids. Derek has been here for three days now, enough to understand the dynamic of the pack.

Isaac stays home and takes care of the place. He volunteers at the animal clinic whenever he can, which is only when the kids are elsewhere. Boyd is an intern at the high school, working with the school psychologist (who still grates on Derek’s nerves). Erica works at a hair salon in town and from what Derek’s been told, she’s making bank from it. Scott’s the lacrosse coach, since Finstock apparently went batshit and disappeared. (Derek is kind of happy about that one.) Allison works as a government weapons dealer, which chills Derek to the core. And Stiles. Stiles is constantly working. His full time job is working at a university about an hour away from Beacon Hills, and he also part times at the police station. When he’s not working, he’s eating, and when he’s not doing either of those things, he’s passed out on the closest comfortable surface. (Which in that past three days has included the floor, the kitchen counter, the bathtub, the fireplace, and the floor of his closet. Never a bed, which doesn’t surprise Derek because Stiles can literally fall asleep anywhere.)

James detaches himself from Derek’s leg and goes off to sit next to his brother. Derek grabs a coffee mug from the cabinet and pours himself a cup. He leans on the counter and yawns a bit.

“So you’ve received a good old-fashioned Gracie wakeup call?” Isaac grins over at him. Derek rolls his eyes and takes a long drink of coffee.

“I could get used to it.”

“I’m almost jealous that you’ve taken my best friend status away from me.”

Derek laughs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

Isaac points his spatula at Derek. “I said almost.” Derek grins and nods. He looks down into his coffee and inhales. This is one scent he won’t ever not adore. Another is Stiles. But he’s not going to think about Stiles right now. “So are you going to look for a job, or did you just come to visit?”

“Would you believe me if I said I actually don’t have a plan at all?”

Isaac laughs. “No, that’s actually more believable than you actually having a plan.” Derek snorts and takes a long drink of his coffee. “Do you want my opinion?” Derek nods. “I think if you try too hard, you’re just gonna screw everything up. So _don’t_ try too hard. If people are meant to be together, they’re going to be together, no matter what.”

“You really believe that?”

“I believe that with all of my heart.” Derek nods slowly. He watches Isaac flip a few more pancakes and puts his mug in the sink.

“Derek!” He hears Grace screech. Derek walks out into the main room where Grace is bounding over the back of the couch and right to him. “Alex doesn’t believe that you were the alpha!” Frankly, she looks pissed and it makes Derek smile because she looks exactly like her mother. Her hands are balled up on her hips and she’s pouting. “And I _told him_ that you were and that you gave it to Uncle Scotty because you didn’t want to hurt anybody and it would be safer if you travelled a bit because you lost your family and needed to feel better before you could keep the pack safe! But Alex says that I’m lying! I don’t lie!”

Derek clicks his tongue and looks up to where Alex is standing defiantly on the carpet with his arms crossed. _He looks like Chris_. Derek sighs a bit and shakes his head. He strides over inside the circle of couches and sits down.

“What do you think happened, Alex?” He says smoothly.

“My dad’s been alpha the whole time!”

“Do you know who turned him?” Alex stops and tilts his head. Derek sees the gears in his head turning. Alex shakes his head.

“Nobody ever told me.”

Derek smiles. “Well it’s not my story to tell. Now you two better apologize to each other and wash up for breakfast.”

Alex scuffs his foot. “I’m sorry for calling you a liar.”

Gracie pouts and crosses her arms. “I’m sorry for screaming at you.” They stare at each other crossly for a moment before grins stretch across their faces. “I call using Derek’s bathroom!” Gracie shouts before sprinting out of the main room and down the hallway.

“I wanna use it too!” Alex shouts, chasing after her. Derek raises an eyebrow and watches them. He feels a tug on his sleeve and turns back around. Natalie is standing in front of him.

“What color are your eyes?” She asks shyly. Derek smiles.

“Blue.” As soon as he says it, she gasps.

“So James was right?” Derek jerks a bit. “He told me up here!” She announces, tapping her head. Derek blinks slowly. “James sees people who are wolves. Only sees them that way.”

“Does Steven see anything like that?” Natalie shakes her head.

“Just James. But you can’t tell any of the other parents,” she says, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “James doesn’t want anybody else finding out. But he trusts you because you smell like home, he said.”

Derek is struck. He looks at Natalie and knows he can’t fight the look on his face. “I won’t tell anybody,” he says and she grins.

“Knew we could trust you,” she says, bouncing away to the kitchen, where Derek can hear Isaac cutting up pancakes for the kids. Derek looks over at James, who’s sitting on the floor, staring directly at him with his thumb in his mouth.

“Do you only talk to Natalie, then?” His breath catches with the toddler nods. Derek licks his lips and exhales through his nose. “And your father doesn’t know?” He doesn’t move, just keeps staring. Derek rubs his hand over his face and sighs. _What did you pass on, Lydia? What nightmares did you pass on?_

 

Derek doesn’t know why he’s doing this. He steps into the police station and sees Stiles at the front desk.

“What can I help you with?” He says without looking up. When Derek can’t reply, he does look up and his brown eyes immediately narrow. “Why are you here?” He says roughly, looking back down at the stack of papers he’s shuffling through.

“I have no idea what to say to you, Stiles.”

Stiles laughs. “That’s great. Because after twelve _fucking_ years, you couldn’t think of anything to say to me? I have news for you, Derek. For these past years, I’ve been hoping that I would be able to get over you. That I’d be able to forgive you for what you did to me. But I _hate you_. I can’t stand thinking about you, let alone looking at you. And now, Grace doesn’t _shut up_ about you. It’s Derek this and Derek that and she talks about how great you are and how cool you are, and I can’t bring myself to tell her that you used to be a sociopathic _bastard_.” Derek lowers his eyes. He’s thinking right now that he doesn’t deserve to look at Stiles. He’s shoving papers into folders angrily, each flutter of paper cutting Derek like he’s being punched repeatedly in the gut. “I have rehearsed what I would say to you for twelve years, Derek. It’s changed every time I’ve thought about it. I had to repeat a year of school because I couldn’t leave my bed. I lost forty pounds in three months gained it back, then lost it again, twice. I’m _still_ recovering from that. At first, I thought I would fall at your feet and beg you to take me back. That I’d do whatever I could to stay out of trouble if we could just stay together. And then I hated you. Told myself that if you ever came back I would scream at you and tell you to leave and never fucking look at me again. But now.” Stiles stops and shakes his head. “I hate you with every ounce of my being but there’s this part of me. This twisted as hell part of me that, even through my entire relationship with Lydia, I still _wanted you_.” Derek looks up at him.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done. I’ll never be able to make it up to you, and I know that.”

Stiles looks at him, his eyes burning. “Do you regret it?”

“And you want the honest reply?”

“If you lie to me, any chance you have to be in my life is gone.”

“I don’t regret leaving, but I regret how I did it. I’ve looked back on that stupid day more times than I can count, and each time I find something else that I did wrong.”

Stiles nods a bit. “We’ll talk more tonight. You’re not out of the doghouse, yet.”

Derek can’t help but smile. “But I’m in the doghouse.”

“In the darkest corner of it, chained up and malnourished,” Stiles says with a sigh. “But, yes. Now, I’ve got work, so get out of here.”

 

Derek walks back to the flat on air. He doesn’t know why he feels as good as he does. He figures it has something to do with the fact that the heartbeat in his head is starting to thrum in time with the one in his chest. Like he’s just that one step closer to being completely in tune with Stiles. Something that they’d never experienced before. Something that Derek would never let them experience back then. But now, he realizes that the bond he _could have_ had with Stiles isn’t only what he wants, it’s what he needs. Stiles is his mate and nobody else could ever take his place or make his head swim like it does when he thinks about him.

He hears a car slow to a stop beside him, but doesn’t look over. He squares his shoulders and keeps walking. He smells blood and metal, not to mention the faint smell of wet fur and burning rubber.

“Excuse me, sir?” The voice sounds like a pterodactyl. Derek clenches his teeth and slows. He looks over at the car – a black SUV – and raises an eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” He replies, placidly, but he can smell the deceit rolling out the window.

“We were wondering if you could give us directions.”

“I’m new in town,” he replies, nodding a bit. “So I can’t help you.”

“Do you know someone who can?”

Derek acts like he’s thinking and shakes his head. “Sorry. Like I said, new and all. You could go to the library and use a computer for a map.” He suggests. He hears something metallic click in the back of the SUV and his skin tingles. He smiles. “I hope you find your way,” he says as a farewell and speeds up. He’s aware of how the SUV follows him before finally speeding up and turning down another road. He pulls out his phone and ducks behind a building.

“Hello?” Derek exhales a breath he doesn’t realize he’d been holding. After all those times where Scott never picked up his phone, he finally does.

“Scott? I think I’m being tracked.”

“You think?”

“They smelled like hunters and I think they had a sensor.”

“Go to the Argent’s house.”

“ _Are you fucking kidding me_?” Derek hisses.

“I’ll tell them to expect you. Trust me, Derek. Things have changed between us.”

Derek closes his eyes and growls a bit. “If I go there and Allison buries an arrow in me, I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth.”

He hears the grin in Scott’s voice. “Challenge accepted, Derek.” The phone clicks off and Derek hangs up. It looks like he’s going to have to get there the normal way, because his Camaro is parked at the flat and there’s no way he’s going to go roof running with a bunch of hunters around. So he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks.

 

He raises his hand and lowers it about five times before he finally knocks on the door. It opens quickly and a hand fists his shirt and pulls him in. He’s thrown against a wall, and he makes the effort to not retaliate. He can’t stop the growl that rises in his throat and when he rights himself, he sees Chris standing in front of the door.

“We’ve been expecting you.”

“I’m sure you have,” Derek replies.

“If there are other hunters in our territory, we need to know about it. The lives of my daughter and grandson are in potential danger.” Chris starts walking and motions for Derek to follow. Derek notes how Chris makes no mention of Scott. Probably a nice family scandal that nobody likes to mention. Derek remembers those. Remembers how he was one of them until. He exhales. Chris takes him to the basement and locks the door. “I need you to tell me everything you can.”

Derek bites the inside of his cheek. He thinks for a second that this is really backwards here, but if it means protecting his pack. There’s something he has to say first.

“I’m sorry you had to lose Kate,” he says. Derek doesn’t know what compels him to say it. He watches Chris grit his teeth, but his expression remains unchanged.

“We lost her long before she died, Derek. But for some reason your sympathy is accepted, even if it is a few years late.”

Derek’s lips twitch in a smile. “It was a black SUV. I didn’t get a look at the license plate. There were three, maybe four people inside. I think they were all men, but the back windows were tinted. They asked me for directions, but obviously they were leading me. I heard a click and some buzzing and figured they’d scanned me somehow. I’ve heard of a weapon that can detect werewolves and track them for days before the tracking wears off. I’m assuming that’s what it was because they followed me here.”

“Intuitive,” Chris responds lowly. He scratches his beard and looks at Derek. “Stay here until we track them down.”

“I can’t just stay here. I have things I need to do.”

“Don’t argue with me, Derek. You’re staying here, unless you want to endanger the entire pack.” Derek grits his teeth. “Give me your phone.” Derek stares at him. “Give it.” So Derek takes it out of his pocket and drops it on the table. “Tell no one where you are. I’m going to tell Scott that you left town to get the hunters off your trail, but you will contact _no one_ else.”

“Chris—“ But the glare he receives cuts him off. Derek takes a breath and licks his lips. “I made a promise to Stiles and I’m not going to start this back off on the wrong foot. I’m not going to start running and hiding again. If you’re going to find these guys, I want to help. This isn’t just your family that’s in danger.” Chris side eyes him, but Derek thinks he might have made a dent.

“Any interaction you have with Stiles right now puts both him and his children in danger. We could use your assistance, but if you contact Stiles, then this is going to get out of hand.”

“Then at least tell Scott to tell him that I can’t see him tonight.” Derek feels like a pussy, bowing down to the whims of a hunter. But if Stiles could get hurt. His chest squeezes in on itself. If Grace or James or Steven could get hurt. “Just do that one thing. Scott will explain the rest.” Chris looks at him for a moment and nods.

“Stay here until I come back,” Chris goes to the stairs and unlocks the doors. Before he leaves, he turns his eyes to the ground at Derek’s feet. “I don’t blame you.” Is all he says, then leaves. The door shuts again and Derek hears the outside lock click. He curses and lets the fear in his gut bubble up into rage. He subdues his growl and clenches his fists. He can’t do anything. He came here to help, to make amends. But he can do _nothing_. After this, Derek can count on his stay in the doghouse being drawn out for years.

 

Derek sits on the cold concrete for upwards of an hour before the door opens again. His head snaps up and it’s Scott. He exhales and his nostrils flare and he looks to the side.

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Derek?” Scott chides and Derek rolls his eyes.

“Don’t lecture me, Scott. They would have done it to anybody. It’s a damn good thing that I realized what it was, or the entire pack could be in danger.”

“You’re going to stay here until it wears off. I talked to Deaton already and he said that if it was through glass, it should only take two days to be completely erased.”

“Does anything speed that up?”

Scott shakes his head. “Deaton said the tracking thing will move like bodily functions.” Derek looks at him dully, not even wanting to glorify that with a verbal response.

“Did you talk to Stiles?”

“Yes and he said he hates you and hopes you rot in this basement, but that when everything’s said and done, you better go straight to him and start apologizing.”

Derek closes his eyes, half in relief and half so Scott doesn’t see him roll them.  “So what’s the game plan?”

“Allison’s generating something now. We’ll be down when we’ve finalized something. By the way, you might have to be bait,” Scott says quickly before leaving. Derek almost hits himself. Allison’s plans always suck. Always. Mostly because somehow Derek ends up being the target or the bait or something that has the potential to be seriously injured. She does it on purpose; everybody knows that she does. Derek fists his hair and stares at the ground. At least something’s getting done. At least the pack is safe. At least Stiles still wants to talk to him.

 

Though it’s going to be hard to talk to Stiles if Derek is _dead_. He’s tied up by his hands in a trap, dangling from a tree. He knows that Allison is getting some sick pleasure from watching him, where she is, perched on the limb that Derek is hanging from. He resists glaring up at her, knowing it would give everything way. He hears a twig snap to his left and jerks his head over.

Sure enough, there’s a group of four people walking toward him. Derek bites back a growl. He has a choice. He can play it cool, calculated, make them realize that he’s a tactical threat. Or he could give his rage and frustration an outlet. And slaughter them when Allison cuts him down. Derek takes a deep breath and turns his head to the ground. His shoulders are starting to hurt.

“Look what we found,” the driver purrs, poking Derek in the ribs with something hard and plastic. Derek just breathes and looks up at them. His face is placid, something he’s become particularly good at, though his contempt is threatening to come across his expression. “We caught ourselves a big bad beta.”

“It’s a beta?” Derek almost snarls. _It_.

“Look,” the guy says. Derek watches him take a blade out of his pocket and lift Derek’s shirt. He nicks the skin on his hip and the skin burns. And his whole body feels like it’s on fire. He feels the transformation rippling under his skin and contorts and growls when it’s forced upon him. Fuck control. He glares down at them, his eyes gleaming blue, and bears his teeth. “Just a beta.”

“Who’s your alpha? Or are you some little omega pussy?” Another one of them steps toward him. Derek’s trying to force himself back to his human side, but it won’t come. The cut on his hip isn’t healing either. Derek doesn’t talk, just clenches his mouth shut and tries not to howl. None of the pack knows what’s going on except Scott. If Derek howls, they’ll come running. The man takes the blade and shoves it into Derek’s side. The pain should bring him back, put him back in his human form, but it must be treated with something that’s forcing Derek to stay a wolf.

“Come on. What’s stopping us from just ripping it in half?” Derek bristles. He can’t fight the snarl that rises in his throat. The man twists the knife into his side and Derek growls, bites back the howl that wants to rise in his throat, the instinct he has to call for help.

He hears the click of a gun cocking. “Us.” He turns his head as best as he can and sees Chris come out of the shadows with his gun trained on the first hunter’s head. The man pulls away, but leaves the knife in Derek’s side. The pain is searing. He starts to recognize the feeling. Monkshood. He’s going to be dead if this doesn’t get out of him. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Why, Chris Argent, fancy meeting you here,” the man purrs, but his voice sounds far away and tinny.

“You know this is our territory.”

“You’re talking like one of them.”

“The pack that this one belongs to is protected under code.”

“Hang the code, Argent.”

Chris fires a single shot. It echoes in Derek ears and his head lolls backwards between his arms. His eyes slip closed. He hears a conversation happening, but he can’t discern the words. His vision is going hazy and his ears are ringing. The last thing he remembers is being cut down and falling on top of the knife.

 

He wakes up in the Argent’s basement. He’s stretched out on a portable cot, but at least they had the decency to do that for him. He realizes that something is wrong the moment he tries to sit up. His body is slow and sluggish and his muscles are completely seized up. He feels like fireworks are exploding behind his eyes and he holds his head.

He tries to listen for footsteps, anything, but realizes that he can’t hear anything. His sits up straight, ignoring the bolt of pain, and inhales. He smells nothing. He swallows hard, tries not to panic. It’s just a side effect of the monkshood, that has to be it. It’s taking his body longer to recover. He feels a sting in his side and lifts up his shirt. There’s a bandage with blood soaking through it and when he lifts the corner, he sees a stitched up wound. He thinks that it’s about time to panic.

He thunders up the stairs and bangs on the basement door, tries to shove it open, but his strength is gone. At least he’s not completely deaf, but he can’t hear anybody coming. His breath is caught in his throat and he goes back down the stairs and paces across the length of the basement. He can’t bring himself to talk or do anything.

He hears the door open and exhales. When he looks, it’s Deaton coming down the stairs. He looks grave. Derek tries to listen for his heartbeat, try and get a read on what he’s thinking. But, nothing. He swallows hard and clenches his teeth.

“It’s good to see you back in town, Derek.”

“Yeah. I’m sure it is,” his own voice sounds foreign to him, like there’s something missing.

“I can see you’ve figured out that something isn’t quite right.”

Derek snorts. “Intuitive.”

“Whatever those hunters used on you suppressed your wolf.”

That was abrupt. Derek can’t quite wrap his head around it. “So, what are you saying?”

“For whatever time until that wound heals, you are completely human.”

 

Derek sits on the couch in the den, staring at the carpet. He hasn’t told any of them, but he gathers that they realize that something isn’t right. His eyes finally focus and he realizes that James is sitting on the floor in front of him, staring.

“Your dad and I are gonna have a lot to talk about tonight,” Derek says gently, leaning over and picking him up. He sets James on his lap and the boy wiggles and settles so he’s laying with his back one Derek’s stomach. He sighs and James tilts his head back to look up at him, his eyes sharp, but wide. Derek smiles a bit. “I can only hope the turn out will be good.” He hugs his arms around the boy and rests his forehead on the top of James’ head. Another small body flops down next to him and Derek sees Steven wiggling his way under Derek’s arm to sit on his lap as well. He grins.

Even if everything is a pile of horse shit right now, Derek has to admit it’s a lot easier to deal with it than it ever would have been before. Deaton had said it would be temporary. So if it’s just temporary, then freaking out about it and getting angry wouldn’t help anybody. From what Chris had told him when he left the Argent’s house, the hunters had left Beacon Hills. Their return would mean that Chris would be taking that matter up with the West Coast Alliance, which Derek had, up until then, thought was a myth. And Chris had also clarified that the Beacon Hills werewolf pack had been cleared with the WCA to exist and keep existing with no threat, so long as no deaths or supernatural threats cropped up because of them. And with the Argent’s recommendation, the pack was safe from all hunters.

It’s an active peace measure that’s been happening in all of the alliances, Chris had told him. Derek thinks how far things have come in just a few short years. After centuries of the hunter-werewolf dynamic, things were starting to change. And even if it was just a slight shift, it spoke miles for the idea of people just being able to live without being under constant threat. Chris had even heard of a place in the east where a local alliance was taking in werewolves to join their ranks. Of course, there’s been backlash from both sides, but the majority of the reception has been positive.

Derek looks at the twins sitting on top of him. They’re already asleep. He supposes it is about naptime. He twists to set them down on the couch next to him and has to bite back a shout. He tenses though and it jars both of them awake. James looks at him with wide eyes, and Derek reads an actual expression on his face for the first time. He scoots off of Derek’s lap and toddles as fast as he can to the other room. Derek can’t even stand up fast enough to stop him. He comes back, dragging Isaac after him and points at Derek.

“What’s going on? This is the most active I’ve ever seen him,” Isaac says, his voice laced with worry. Derek grits his teeth and stands up and sets Steven on the floor.

“Nothing,” he says, forcing a smile on to his face.

“Bull,” Isaac replies. Derek follows the line of his gaze and notices that the side of his shirt is damp and red. He puts his hand over it and closes his eyes.

“Don’t say anything. Don’t. I’ll ask Scott to get the pack together tonight, but until then, I need you to pretend that this didn’t happen.” He says it sharply and walks out of the main room and into his bedroom. He shuts the door and leans against it. He’s always had a high pain threshold, but it’s becoming more and more apparent that his pain _tolerance_ is not as high when he’s not healing automatically. He peels off his shirt with some serious difficulty and takes the bandage off. He drops it into the trash can and goes to the bathroom. He cleans off the stitched up, but still bleeding, wound with a wet towel and slathers on a healing salve that Deaton brought him. It burns a bit, but it eases the pain in his side to a dull throb.

It also dampens his senses, he realizes, when his eyes grow heavy and his body feels sluggish again. He takes a deep breath and stretches out on top of the bed on his side. He needs to let the cut breathe. His eyes slide closed and he’s drifting before long. He notices finally why something felt so wrong when he woke up earlier. There was no other heartbeat next to his own. It was just him. Completely and truly alone. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it before he’s dead asleep.

 

“Scott, you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on. I’m not waiting for a freaking pack meeting. You tell me he can’t come see me and you won’t tell me why and I get here and James is sitting on the couch _sobbing_ and I go in to talk to Derek and he’s got a freaking bleeding oozing _gash_ up his side. Now you _tell me_ what the hell is going on before I find some way to rip your brain stem out with your own teeth.”

“He’s human, Stiles.”

Derek sighs a bit. Stiles must have picked up the bodily harm thing a while ago. He’s gotten good at getting creative. “I’m sorry, what?” Stiles replies. Derek can practically see him circling his head and looking at Scott like someone would look at somebody standing in the middle of the mall screaming bloody murder.

“He got… stabbed by a hunter and whatever the thing was poisoned with turned him human.”

It’s completely silent. Derek wishes he could hear _something_. He does hear a muffled reply, but can’t make it out. Their voices are retreating and Derek closes his eyes again. He slides out of bed and slaps a crooked dressing on to his side and pulls on a loose dark shirt. He glances at the mirror hanging on the wall and frowns. His face is sallow and pale and he looks hideous, to be honest. He backtracks into the bathroom and rummages through the medicine cabinet. Two Advil is the best he can do, but he supposes it’s better than nothing. His face is getting a little scruffier than he’s used to, but he’s really not about to take the time to shave right now.

When he walks out to the main room, he catches everybody stopping in the middle of a conversation. Derek can’t help but be amused. The corner of his mouth lifts up in a half smile and he shakes his head.

“And here I was hoping that I could tell everyone on my own time,” he says easily, dissipating the tension in the room.

“Is there anything we can do?” Erica says, standing up and walking to him. Derek shakes his head.

“It’s temporary. I’ll be fine once it heals. Six weeks tops, Deaton said.”

It’s Stiles that speaks up, which surprises Derek. “Why the hell are you so okay with this?” Derek looks at him and presses his lips together and exhales through his nose. He could explain all of it, but that would involve being far more long winded than Derek wants to be right now. “You’re stuck as a human before a month and a half and you don’t even _care_.” It strikes him how mad Stiles is about this. Apparently it strikes everybody else, too, because they’re all looking at him.

“It’s out of my control. There’s no point in being vengeful or getting upset. It’s been taken care of and if this is the worst thing that comes out of, then that’s alright by me.” Stiles just gapes at him and shakes his head. It takes Derek a second to realize that Stiles has tears in his eyes. He pushes past Derek and back into the hallways. “Stiles!” Derek looks after him, then whips his head back to the group. His eyes are set and dark and he really wishes he could give them the full intensity of what he’s feeling right now. “If any of you try to eavesdrop on this conversation,” he leaves the rest hanging in the air and follows after Stiles. He opens the door to his bedroom and Stiles is standing there glaring at him.

“You would have never been okay with this. You would have done whatever you could to take revenge on the people who did this to you.” Derek takes a step toward him and Stiles matches him by stepping back. Derek clenches his fists.

“I’ve changed, Stiles.”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Yeah, you have.” He’s silent for a bit, thinking. “You know, I thought you died?”

“What?”

“Last night, this morning. Until I saw you laying on the bed earlier. It was like you were just _gone_ and it scared me. I couldn’t feel you anywhere.” Derek falters.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. We couldn’t tell you. We couldn’t tell anybody. If at any point those hunters got lead here or to anybody else…” Derek swallows and licks his lips. “I did what I could to keep you safe.”

Stiles clenches his teeth and looks at him. “Why don’t you ever ask me what I want?”

“Stiles—“

“You tell me that you do all of this stuff to protect me, to keep me safe, but you never stop and think that maybe I don’t need protection all the time. I wanted to be with you more than anything and you just _left_. You wouldn’t listen to me when I told you not to go. I just had to stand there and do what you told me to do, like always. Do you know how badly I want to go back? I want to go back and stop you from leaving so badly I can’t even explain it.”

“That would mean not having Grace or James or Steven.”

“I know.”

“And our relationship wasn’t healthy, Stiles. It’s wasn’t. It would never be healthy for either of us because I had no identity apart from you. You were everything to me, and you have been all of these years. Every time I wanted to come back, but knew I wasn’t ready, I stopped myself because I knew I had to let you move on and I had to learn how to trust and be happy on my own.”

“Did you learn how?” Stiles’ voice is thick and full of tears.

Derek nods. “I did.”

“I never moved on.”

“Neither did I.” He can tell that Stiles wants to do something. Hug him, kiss him, slap him, _anything_. But they’re both too afraid.

“I loved Lydia, Derek.”

“I know you did.”

“I’m glad I had kids.”

“I am too.”

Stiles looks at the floor. And Derek takes a moment to _really_ look at him. He’s been around Stiles almost daily for a week or so, but he hasn’t actually stopped to look at him. At first glance, he’s the same as he always was. But now that Derek’s actually seeing him, he realizes that there are lines on Stiles’ face. Slight wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, soft purple bags underneath them. And the eyes themselves are still that wonderful caramel brown, but they’re faded. They’re not clear and they don’t bore into his soul, they’re dull and calculating and tired. His hair is longer, not buzzed like it used to be, but not completely unkempt. His shoulders are wider, but he’s not any taller. Though he’s out of school and no longer in athletics, his body hasn’t gone soft. Derek wants to hold Stiles’ hands and traces his veins like roadmaps.

“Why are you just staring at me?”

Derek looks at him and Stiles is staring right back at him. “Am I allowed to hug you, Stiles?”

“I think so.” So Derek closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Stiles. He exhales when Stiles slides his arms around Derek’s ribs and buries his face into Derek’s shoulder. He gets this amazing rush of feelings and it nearly guts him. He slides a hand to Stiles’ head and holds him, closing his eyes so that he might be able to stop himself from crying. He’ll never be okay with crying, whether it’s in front of somebody or not. But Stiles is wrapped around him and so warm and they’re both so human and vulnerable that it makes Derek’s heart hurt. He tightens his grip to make sure that this is real. But the way his muscles tense sends a sharp stab of pain through his side and he can’t stop the sound that comes out of his mouth.

Stiles pulls away from him and furrows his eyebrows. “Let me look at it.” He says softly, but it reads as a demand more than anything else. So Derek takes off his shirt. Stiles scoffs at the haphazard bandage. He carefully peels the tape off and grimaces. “What kind was it?”

“It felt like monkshood, but it would never suppress the wolf like this.”

Stiles clicks his tongue. “I’ve read about _Aconatim anthora_. Yellow monkshood. Also known as Healing Monkshood. But the plant is at least twice as lethal as traditional monkshood. Deaton gave you something for it?” Derek nods, a bit stunned that Stiles is so knowledgeable, though he doesn’t know why it surprises him.

“It’s in the bathroom.” Stiles goes and grabs the little tin and motions for Derek to lie down on the bed. So he does. Stiles sits behind him and pushes Derek’s arm forward, clearing his side.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t any lower or higher than it was, Derek. The blade was asymmetrical, had a hook about half way down the blade.” Derek furrows his eyebrows.

“You can tell this just by looking at the stitched up wound?”

“You learn things,” is all Stiles says. His fingers work the skin around the cut and Derek clenches his teeth. “Relax. It’s going to hurt anyway, so just relax.” Derek closes his eyes. He feels Stiles’ fingers glide over the cut and he hisses. The pressure gets harder as Stiles rubs the mixture into the gash, and the pain increases. Derek clenches his fists, but starts to relax as Stiles keeps rubbing and he starts feeling better. “This stuff is made from the root of that same monkshood. It’s the only thing that will draw out the poison. But it won’t do shit if it doesn’t get inside.” He slides off the bed and washes his hands and comes back with a fresh piece of gauze and fresh tape. “You also suck at sealing bandages.” Stiles is chiding him, but Derek hears the concern and affection in his voice, even with human senses. He kneels on the bed and sticks the bandage on and stands up again.

Derek sits up and looks at him. “Can I ask what my doghouse status is?”

Stiles licks his lips and looks up at the ceiling. “You have an ample supply of food and water, but you’re still chained up and in the darkest corner.” Derek nods. “Come help me make dinner and I might consider moving you to the light.” Derek lets himself smile, glad that Stiles is making jokes with him. He stands up and pulls his shirt back on.

“What’s on the menu?”

“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

Derek wrinkles his nose. “Meatloaf?”

Stiles points at him. “I’ll have you know the pack loves my meatloaf.”

Derek tries not to snort. But he sees Stiles’ eyes sparkle like they always used to and smiles.

 

Tonight Derek has learned that it’s very hard to cook with a child on your shoulders. But once Grace climbed up, she wouldn’t get down. So Derek stirs the mashed potatoes with a pair of tiny heels tapping on his chest. Grace is inspecting Derek’s hair and combing her hands through it. Even if Derek doesn’t have the strength that comes with being a werewolf, he still has the muscles that he’s built up for his entire life, so carrying her around feels like nothing. None of the kids know about Derek, except Derek has a sneaking suspicion that James knows. He doesn’t know why he believes what Natalie told him; it just makes sense.

It doesn’t take werewolf senses to feel the eyes of everybody in the main room looking at him and Stiles in the kitchen. They’re moving around like it’s a completely natural rhythm for them and frankly, it makes Derek’s heartbeat speed up. He should be embarrassed, but he’s not. There’s no part of him that can be embarrassed about this.

“Grace, can you please get down and go play with your brothers?” Stiles finally says, exasperated. Grace pouts and beats her hands on Derek’s head.

“They’re boring! All they ever do is stare at me and play with themselves!” She squeaks. Derek has to bite back a laugh. “Plus, I like Derek.” She hugs her arms around his head, effectively blinding him with her shirtsleeves.

“We all like Derek, Gracie,” Stiles says gently. “You can be on his shoulders after dinner.” She huffs, but releases her grip enough for Stiles to pick her up and set her on the floor. He pats her head and she scuttles off grudgingly. Instead of playing with the other kids, she crawls on to Isaac’s lap and loudly declares that “Daddy never lets her have fun.”

This earns a soft laugh from the pack, and the attention is finally off of Stiles and Derek.

“She’s like a pint-sized Lydia,” Derek remarks softly. He half expects Stiles to flinch or his face to darken, but there’s a smile that stretches across his face that goes right to his eyes as well.

“She’s completely Lydia,” he agrees. They ease in to a comfortable silence as they cook, the chatter from the room over providing a soundtrack to meatloaf night.

“Not as spoiled, I hope,” he says after a few minutes’ silence.

“I refuse to spoil my kids,” Stiles replies, his eyes focused on the broccoli he’s chopping up. “She gets to pick out one toy if she gets all A’s on her report card at the end of the grading period.”

“So she has a lot of toys?” Derek remarks, eyebrows raised and eyes smiling.

Stiles laughs. “Too many. Get a pot out for me?”

Derek crouches down and digs through cupboard for a cooking pot big enough. He finally pulls one out, but loses his balance trying to stand up, mostly because his side clenches in pain, and he curses. He almost hits his head on the corner of the counter, but catches himself before he does. The pot clatters to the floor, though, causing a loud crash and then complete silence.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks quickly, dropping the vegetables in his hands and crouching down next to where Derek has slid down against the counter and is sitting. He takes a deep breath and nods.

“I just really suck at being human.”

Stiles’ mouth half twitches up in a smile. “Go lay down. I’ll come get you when dinner’s ready.”

“Stiles, I don’t need to –“

“It wasn’t a suggestion, Derek.”

Derek decides that he likes ballsy Stiles a lot. He smiles a bit and stands up, using the counter to steady himself. Stiles stands up as well.

“If you fall asleep, I’m not waking you up,” he says gently. Derek nods. He turns and leaves the kitchen, but not before he catches the pack quickly turning their heads away. He laughs a bit under his breath and goes to his bedroom. He stretches out on the bed and closes his eyes.

 

Derek doesn’t realize that something’s wrong until he wakes up. He’s in the same position he’d fallen asleep in, but something is different. There’s a weight next to him. He looks over and sees Stiles stretched out next to him, not touching him, just next to him. Derek sits up and Stiles jerks awake, his eyes wide. Derek can’t help his gasp at Stiles’ sudden waking.

“What?” He asks sharply. Stiles sits up slowly and stares at him.

“You’ve been asleep for three days, Derek.” Stiles’ worry is plain on his face. “I swear to god, we all thought you wouldn’t wake up.” Derek swallows.

“You didn’t try?”

“We all did,” Stiles’ voice cracks – from grogginess, Derek insists. “Move your arm, I need to check.” He reaches forward and Derek gathers that he means the bandage. So Derek holds his arm up and Stiles slides closer. He’s taking his time peeling back the tape and Derek’s arm is getting tired. He chances the contact and lowers it so it’s draped over Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles flicks his eyes up to meet Derek’s briefly before looking back at the bandage. Derek exhales through his nose. He likes this closeness.

The air hits Derek’s wound and he grits his teeth. “What’s it look like?”

“Better. Healing faster than it would be if you were the one taking care of it,” Stiles chides, pursing his lips. “I bet you anything Deaton gave you that time frame because he knows how much of an incompetent loser you are.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Derek says with a grimace as Stiles works the salve between the stitches once more. Derek closes his eyes and looks over his other shoulder. The scent of the salve is starting to get to him. He didn’t notice it initially, but now it smells like burning duct tape and wet wool. He feels his stomach lurch. _Shit_. He pushes Stiles away and slides off the bed and stumbles to the bathroom. For once he’s glad he never lived with another person and he’d gotten used to leaving the toilet seat up. He’s barely kneeling before his stomach cramps and he heaves. It’s black and tastes like hell and won’t stop coming. He hears Stiles stumble in the door way.

“Oh, gross,” he mutters, but he pads over and grabs a washcloth from the closet and turns on the cold water in the sink. Derek closes his eyes to the sludge in the toilet. It finally stops and he’s lightheaded. He spits and sits back on his heels. Stiles thrusts a cup of water in his hand and Derek takes it gratefully. He takes a swig and spits it out in the toilet before flushing. He downs the rest of the water and stands up. Stiles hooks an arm around Derek’s waist, careful to avoid the cut. “Come on. Back to bed,” he says. Derek swears he’s not trying to be difficult, but his feet really aren’t cooperating with him.

“I’m sorry,” he says reflexively. Stiles rolls his eyes and pushes Derek gently on to the bed. Derek sits with a wince and leans back into the pillows. Stiles sits next to him and scoots closer.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I don’t try to be.”

“Why the hell did you agree to Allison’s plan?”

“Because I couldn’t—“

“You couldn’t let us get hurt.” Stiles sighs and shakes his head. He unfolds and refolds the washcloth and drapes it over Derek’s forehead. The cold dampness makes him close his eyes almost involuntarily. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t do everything for me.”

Derek opens an eye. “Everything I’ve done since meeting you has been for you.”

“Huh?”

Derek swallows and closes his eyes. “I knew the moment I saw you, Stiles.”

“Knew what?” Derek resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“That you were my mate. That I had to keep you safe.”

“Sure had a weird way of showing it.”

“I’ve never been good at expressing myself,” Derek replies with a smile.

“You’ve gotten better. And I kind of like it.”

“I can still be a hard ass, if you need me to be.”

Stiles laughs. And it’s a nice laugh. A real one. He flips the washcloth over and Derek relaxes into the bed. “I’ll take you however I can have you,” he says so softly that Derek almost misses it as he drifts back to sleep.

 

The next time Derek wakes up, Stiles is curled into his uninjured side, cradling Steven between them. James is laying on Derek’s other side, carefully contorted so that he’s avoiding the bandage, and Grace is sprawled between Derek’s and Stiles’ legs. In other words, he’s not moving any time soon. He decides he’s comfortable, though, and likes the feeling of other warm bodies next to him. He sighs deeply and closes his eyes again.

“If you move, I’m going to kill you,” Stiles says softly, right in his ear. Derek smiles and flicks his eyes over. “It took hours to get Grace to calm down enough to actually sleep.”

“Poor daddy,” Derek replies, just as softly. It strikes him suddenly that he can feel the soft thrum of that second heartbeat again. It’s barely there, and he can only feel it if he holds his breath.

“Your wolf is coming back already, isn’t it?” Derek can’t tell for sure, but he thinks that Stiles sounds disappointed. Derek nods slightly. “Is there anything you want to do before you’re invincible again?” Derek looks over at him. They’re nose to nose. Stiles’ eyes are smiling.

“I want to get drunk,” he says. Stiles laughs quietly, his eyes closing, but it shakes the bed. He calms himself and looks back at Derek.

“That’s all you want to do?”

“I’ve never been able to get drunk. Werewolf abilities make it literally impossible for your system to be impaired by alcohol.”

“That’s rough.”

Derek chuckles lowly and smiles. “A little.”

“So tonight, Isaac will watch this kids and we’ll go out and get wasted. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect.” Derek replies. They both close their eyes. Derek doesn’t turn his head away. He’s got the sinking feeling that he’s going to do something stupid, but he too excited by the prospect of going on a date with Stiles to care.

 

“How about we stay in and get wasted?” Derek suggests while he’s laid out on the bathroom floor, Stiles standing over him and looking anywhere but down.

“How the hell did you manage to fall in the shower, Derek? Don’t you go geriatric on me, okay? You’re not that much older. You’ll give me a complex.”

“Just give me a towel, Stiles,” he says lightly. Stiles huffs and tosses a towel down over him.

“You make my head hurt,” he replies, walking out of the bathroom. Derek manages to get himself off the floor with more trouble than he thinks should be necessary. He shuts off the shower and wraps the towel around his waist. Looking in the mirror, he lifts his arm and looks at his side. The cut is less red and twisted and angry, but it’s still throbbing. He lowers his arm and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. He walks out and goes to the dresser and grabs a pair of boxers and slides them on.

He wonders who unpacked his bags, because he certainly didn’t do it. His first reaction is Erica, because she’s always been the type to do that. But he also thinks it could have been Stiles, if only to give him something to do while keeping an eye on Derek when he was passed out. He tosses the towel on the chair in the room and sits on the other side of the bed.

“I never thought you’d have the ability to be clumsy,” Stiles muses. He crawls further on the bed and sits behind Derek. His fingers trace over the tattoos on Derek’s back. “You got more,” he says gently. Derek shudders.

“A few.” Stiles fingers crawl over Derek’s shoulder.

“I like them. It looks like a kaleidoscope,” Stiles hums, and Derek closes his eyes.

“That’s kind of the point,” Derek says softly, a smile on his lips.

“This is still my favorite,” he mumbles, his fingers tracing the swirls in the middle of Derek’s back. His skin tingles when Stiles lifts his hands away. “Lay down.” And Derek stretches out on his side. He holds his breath while Stiles works the paste into his stitches. It hurts less than before, but it still stings and Derek’s eyes start watering from both the pain and the smell. He feels Stiles slide a gauze pad on top and seal it shut. Derek exhales and sits up.

“Thank you,” he says, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Will you come with me to pick the kids up from school?” Stiles asks. Derek raises his eyebrows and looks over at him. Stiles is standing at the foot of the bed now. Derek didn’t feel him get up.

“How much longer until then?”

“It’s about two right now. They get out at four.”

Derek nods. “I’ll come with you.”

A smile crosses Stiles’ face and he nods. He leaves Derek’s bedroom and Derek buries his face in his hands.

 

“Derek!” Grace squawks when she sees the both of them leaning against Stiles’ Jeep. It’s a new Jeep, obviously. Because not even that resilient dinosaur could survive twelve more years. It’s a deep purple red and the back is littered with toys and baby wipe containers. Stiles moved the car seats to the trunk in exchange for the three booster seats they’d need. Grace practically throws herself at Derek’s legs and hugs him. He can’t help but smile. She pulls away and grins up at him.

“Where are Nat and Alex?” Stiles asks her, crouching down to talk to her. She turns and looks back at the school.

“They _were_ right behind me,” she says, sticking her finger in her mouth and playing with her bottom lip. Her eyes search the crowd of kids and then she points. “There they are!” Derek follows her finger and sees them both holding hands and glaring at a group of kids that are closing in on them. Stiles stands up, but Derek beats him to it. He strides over, masking his anger with a pleasant smile.

“Nat, Alex. Who are your friends?” He asks. Natalie grins at him as the kids bothering them turn around and look up at him with wide eyes. Derek smiles at them and they scatter. He holds out his hand and Natalie takes it. They walk back to the car and Natalie is skipping beside him and swaying their hands. Stiles licks his lips and crosses his arms, his eyebrows raised and his face amused.

“That was so _cool_!” Grace shouts. Derek grins as Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Let’s go home,” he says, pulling away from the door and opening it. The three of them scramble in and buckle themselves and Stiles shuts the door. “I have to say, that was a very good way to handle that situation,” Stiles says to him, straightening Derek’s jacket and smiling. He turns his eyes to the ground and walks around to the other side of the car. Derek bites back the grin on his face as he opens the door and slides in to the passenger seat.

 

“You should stay sober,” Derek says. He’s already halfway drunk and leaning up against a smokestack on the roof. Stiles looks over at him, his eyebrows raised. Derek lolls his head over. “I don’t want to do something stupid,” he explains.

“You’re already doing something stupid,” Stiles replies with a chuckle, taking a sip of his coke.

“But I don’t want to do something _really_ stupid,” Derek pushes, lifting the bottle of whiskey to his lips and taking a long drink. It should burn as it goes down his throat, but it doesn’t. He’s gotten used to it already. He pulls the bottle away with a pop and sighs.

“Like what?” Stiles prompts. Derek looks up at the sky, tries counting the stars, but his eyes start watering and he closes them.

“Like kiss you or somethin’,” he slurs.

“And why would that be a bad thing?” Stiles is amused.

“Because I can’t just come back here and pick things back up, you know? It’s like dating somebody for the first time again, even if you’ve dated them before, you know? You gotta take it slow because if you just throw yourself into it, both people are gonna get screwed ‘cause it was way too fast and way too quickly, you know?” Derek’s rambling, and he knows he’s rambling, but his head is thrumming and his heart is speeding and he feels so light, like he could float off the roof and join the stars.

“I see,” he says.

“Even if I do love you,” Derek blurts it out. It’s silent. Derek opens his eyes and looks over at Stiles. His mouth his wide open. He blinks a few times and snaps his mouth shut.

“Derek.”

“You blink a lot,” he replies, tilting his head back and taking another swig.

 

He wakes up on the roof with Stiles wrapped in his arms, his back pressed into Derek’s chest. The first thing he notices is that they’re still clothed. The terror that was rising in his chest gives way to a feeling of nausea. He unfolds himself from Stiles, ignoring the searing pain in his side, because waking up with vomit all over you is never a good relationship booster. He stumbles around behind the smoke stack and empties his stomach contents. At least it’s not black. He stands up and rubs his face. He tries to think back to last night, but his memory goes fuzzy after they sit down next to each other.

He walks back around and takes stock of the situation. Stiles has rewrapped himself in the blanket that they brought up and is still asleep. There’s an empty whiskey bottle and a pile of empty Coke cans and Derek sighs. So this wasn’t his best idea in the world, but it looked like it hadn’t ended too terribly. He sits down next to Stiles and prods his arm gently. Stiles stirs awake and looks up at him. He closes his eyes and stretches and flops on to his back.

“What happened last night?” Derek asks. Stiles grimaces.

“You got piss drunk and wouldn’t shut up about the sky.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “That’s it?”

“And you started trying to howl, but kept pretty much collapsing into fits of giggles, which I frankly never want to hear again.” Stiles quirks a brow.

“That’s alright because I’m never getting drunk again.”

Stiles snorts. “Good.”

“Did anything else happen?”

Stiles pauses, thinking. “Nope,” he says, smiling. Derek nods.

“I’m sorry,” he says, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. Stiles laughs.

“Don’t be. Let’s go get you some medicine and actually sleep in a bed.” He sits up stiffly and rubs his eyes. As he stands and gathers the blanket and walks away, Derek wonders idly what Stiles is lying about.

 

Derek eases himself on to the bed and lays out on his back. His side is throbbing and his head is pounding and he’s wondering why people think that being drunk is fun. Stiles slides on to the bed next to him.

“Do you mind if I stay with you?” He asks softly.

“What time is it?”

“Almost five in the morning.”

Derek pats the space right next to him and Stiles flops over and lays down. “What time do you have to go to work?”

“I’m off today.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Liar.”

“I’m _taking_ off today,” he amends, leaning into Derek’s side and resting his head on his shoulder. Derek drapes his arm around Stiles and idly rubs his back.

“This is okay?”

“Yes, Derek. This is okay. This is good,” he replies softly. Derek exhales and sinks into the bed. “You told me you love me, Derek,” he says finally. Derek opens his eyes and looks down at him.

“I did what?”

“You said that you love me. You were talking about how you didn’t want to do something stupid like kiss me. And you said that you thought this should be slow, like we were first dating again. Even though you love me.”

Derek closes his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Stiles relaxes and closes his eyes and slides his arm across Derek’s chest. Derek nods. “Let’s just sleep.” He nods again.

 

His eyes open when his door does. He moves his head just barely to look over at the doorway and sees Erica peeking in. She grins apologetically, but doesn’t leave. Derek huffs through his nose and moves his arm from around the dead weight laying half on top of him. He slides out from under Stiles with some serious difficulty, surprised when the other man merely flops over into the space where Derek had been and buries his face into his pillow. He turns back to Erica.

“What?” He whispers.

“Deaton’s on the phone for you.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You’re kidding me.”

“He just wants to talk to you.”

“Derek,” Stiles whines from the bed. Derek looks back at him. “Come back to bed.” Derek turns back to Erica, his eyebrows raised and looking at her expectantly. Erica rolls her eyes.

“I’ll tell him to call back later. You get an _hour_. That’s it. I’ll tell him you’re showering,” Erica points a perfectly manicured finger into his chest and turns, her blonde hair whipping him over the face. He jerks his head back and blinks. He sighs and walks back to the bed and sits back down.

“What’d she want?” Stiles says, his words slurring from tiredness. He picks his head up to look at Derek but just flops it back down because it takes too much effort. Derek smiles.

“Deaton wants to talk to me. Erica’s having him call back later.” Stiles nods.

“If you get up again without me letting you, I’ll punch you.”

Derek laughs. “If you say so,” he replies, stretching out again and letting Stiles mold around him once more.

 

So Derek finds out that he’s not leaving the bed for a while. He has Erica bring him the phone.

“What do you want?” Derek says gruffly. He feels Stiles laugh into the fabric of Derek’s shirt. Derek is leaning against the headboard and Stiles and draped over him with his head resting on Derek’s chest.

“Not quite the greeting I was expecting, but it’ll do. I wanted to check up on you.”

“How kind,” he remarks, but he really is touched. Deaton had ties to Derek’s family. Hell, he treated taking care of Derek and the pack like it was his job.

“How’s the cut healing up?”

“Fine, I suppose. Better than it would be if I was the one taking care of it.”

He hears Deaton laugh. “So Stiles is keeping an eye on it, then?” Derek chuffs in agreement. “Good to know you’re in capable hands. Now it’s important that you stay on top of keeping the wound clean. If it starts to swell again or start leaking, you come straight here.”

Derek wrinkles his nose. “Leaking?”

“I don’t know how much poison was on the knife, and I have no way of telling. I flushed out what I could but it could have gotten deeper. As you start to heal your body will push it out on its own. And when that starts happening, there can be some … side effects.”

“Side effects,” he deadpans.

“Just come here if it starts happening. _Don’t_ put it off.”

Derek sighs. “Alright.”

“Take care, Derek.”

“You too.” Derek hits _End Call_ and drops the phone off the side of the bed.

“Leaking?” Derek rolls his eyes.

“Yes, leaking.”

“That’s gross. Your body’s been doing gross things.”

Derek laughs, closing his eyes and nuzzling his head against Stiles’. “It has.” If he really doesn’t think too hard about it, he feels like he and Stiles are nineteen and twenty-five again and things are easy. Like they’re laying in Stiles’ bed, just holding each other in the dark.

“I think I’m glad things turned out this way,” Stiles says softly, moving his head on Derek’s chest and looking up at him. He doesn’t elaborate, but Derek doesn’t think he has to.

 

The first time Derek sees Natalie transform, it breaks his heart. Her parents aren’t suited to take care of a werewolf so young. They don’t know what it’s like to be one from birth. So they keep her in a cage in the basement and Erica and Boyd trade moons watching her.

Derek comes down after the sun has set. She’s cowering in the corner of the cell, hair ragged and nails digging at the concrete floor. It’s been a week and a half since Derek was stabbed, so he has most of his wolf back. He slides in to the cage and crouches down.

“Natalie,” he says gently. Her head snaps up and she growls at him, eyes bright gold and glaring. His neck twitches and he transforms with a bit of difficulty, but still only his eyes and teeth. She yelps a bit and tries to shuffle away from him. “Come here,” he says, holding out a hand to her. She reaches hers out hesitantly and places it in his. He smiles at her encouragingly. “What makes you happy, Nat?” She uncurls herself from the wall and looks up at him.

“Playing with Gracie,” she whimpers. Derek nods, tries to draw her out further.

“What do you like about that?”

“She always has the best ideas when we play pretend. And she doesn’t let Alex boss me around ever. And she lets me be the mommy every other time we play house. She shares her snack when Alex takes pieces of mine.” Derek watches her slowly sink back to her human form as she talks. Tears flood her eyes and she hiccups. She loses her concentration and transforms again, collapsing into soft sobs. Derek pulls her into a quick hug and then sets her down.

“You’re a good kid, Nat. You’re safe,” he says gently. “We’re going to work on this, okay?” He smiles when she nods. “The only reason it’s so hard is because it’s a full moon.” She nods harder.

“I know.”

“You’ll be staying human in no time.”

She smiles just barely before sliding back to the corner and resting her head on the wall. Derek stands up and tries to ignore the way his knees pop. He slides out of the cage and shuts the door. Boyd looks up at him.

“I feel like the worst parent in the world, Derek.”

“You’re not.”

Boyd shakes his head and rubs his hands over his face. “We’ve had no idea what to do. It’s been absolute hell every full moon.” Derek purses his lips. “We got whatever help we could. Stiles researched a bunch of things about it, but…”

“It’s not your fault,” Derek says. Boyd looks up at him. “None of this is anybody’s fault. So stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s hard. I _understand_.” Boyd nods and takes a deep breath. Derek claps a hand on his shoulder. He gives Boyd a sharp nod, his lips pursed. “It’s all going to work out.” He relaxes when Boyd smiles and nods.

 

Derek picks up on the scent when he’s out grocery shopping with Isaac. The wound in his side is almost completely healed, so he’s not having trouble reaching up or crouching down (with the exception that when he stands up, his knees crack and his ankles pop). Isaac is grabbing a frozen pizza when they both freeze. Derek’s sense of smell has always been terrible. His ears are his strength and he knows it. But Isaac has always had a keen sense of smell. So when Derek sees him curl his lips back, he knows that he’s not just smelling things.

“Calm down, Isaac,” he says lowly. “It might just be someone passing through.” It’s enough to bring Isaac back at least momentarily, and he sets the pizza in the shopping cart and shuts the freezer door. Derek tries to ignore it, but as they continue down the aisle, the scent gets stronger.

“ _Derek_ ,” Isaac hisses. He puts a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, and they’re both suddenly glad that they wouldn’t let Grace come with them. Isaac flicks his head toward a burly looking man with a full beard and a bald head. He’s talking to a woman with short blonde hair. She’s slight, but Derek knows without a question that she’s the alpha that they’re both smelling.

“Stop, Isaac.”

“This is our territory.”

“And if they cause trouble, we’ll take care of it. But right now, we need to finish getting groceries.”

Isaac growls low in his throat, but turns the cart around and walks. Derek follows next to him, taking the folded piece of paper out of his pocket and crossing a few items off the list. He hears his phone start vibrating and slides it out of his back pocket. He raises his eyebrows at the caller ID, or lack thereof.

“Hello?”

“Derek, there’s something seriously wrong here.”

“Scott?”

“Yes, Scott.”

“I don’t recognize the number.”

“I’m calling from work.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You need to take the alpha back. Like right fucking now. There’s another pack in the area and I’m really not equi—“

“Scott,” Derek hisses, running a hand through his hair. “I gave you the alpha for a reason. If you stop proving me wrong, I’ll take it back and give it to Isaac.”

“Isaac?”

“Hey,” Isaac says indignantly. Derek rolls his eyes.

“Stop eavesdropping,” he clips.

“Derek—“

“Shut up, Scott,” he grates it and surprises himself at how hostile he sounds. He clears his throat. “We’ll talk tonight.”

“Pack meeting?”

“Your call, _sir_ ,” he emphasizes and pulls the phone away from his ear before Scott can reply.

“Is that really neces—“

“Yes.” Isaac snaps his mouth shut. “St—We need to get stuff to make meatloaf again.” So Isaac pushes the cart and they finish shopping.

In the parking lot, they’re loading groceries into the Jeep and Isaac freezes. Derek turns around and steps in front of Isaac as the bearded man and his alpha come walking towards him.

“We heard about your pups,” she purrs. Derek bristles. “The immune ones.” A bolt of panic strikes down Derek’s spine. Isaac growls behind him and Derek doesn’t shove him to shut him up.

“How?”

“Let’s just say, we have friends in high places.” She leans into his face and smirks and licks her lips. Derek sees her fangs when she grins. He clenches his teeth. “Don’t worry, we won’t kill them,” she whispers. Derek thinks she’s trying to pull a seductive voice, but he’s seeing right through it to the venomous core of her words. “We just want to pick them apart. Bit,” she crawls two fingers up his chest and fists the collar of his shirt, “by bit.” She pushes away from him and they’re suddenly gone.

 

“We have a problem. One that’s going to get us into some seriously deep shit unless we act now,” Scott says and for a second Derek is actually seeing the reason he thought Scott would be capable. “The kids are going to be staying at the Argents until this other pack leaves. I’ve already called them all out of school and gotten school work for the week, because if this takes more than a week, Chris is calling in reinforcements. Which could get messy. Erica and Boyd are going to take turns staying with the kids. As for confronting them, Allison—“

“No,” Stiles jumps in, effectively silencing Scott. Derek figures it’s because Stiles usually doesn’t come to pack meetings and also doesn’t interrupt people. “Allison is not making the fucking plan again.” Derek watches him glare across the table to where Allison is sitting, looking particularly open-mouthed and victimized.

“He volunteered!” She says, exasperated. Derek has the feeling they’ve had this discussion already. He also feels generally offended that they think he can’t handle this.

“He almost _died_.”

“Stiles—“

“Shut up, Derek,” he bites, then realizes how he sounds and sits back in his chair with his hands over his face. Derek hears his heartbeat slow down and he drops his hands. “I’m sorry. To both of you. All of you,” he waves his hand around the table. “They threatened my _kids_.” Stiles’ hand finds Derek’s under the table. Stiles is shaking. “If anything happens to them…” Derek squeezes his hand gently and Stiles falls silent.

It’s tense for a moment, but Scott clears his throat and the air lightens. “We’re all going to get through this with minimal damage. There will be collateral, but that’s to be expected when a pack like this comes into the area. I have Deaton and Chris running a search given your descriptions of them. I think Deaton knows exactly who we’re dealing with, but you know his habit of letting us find things out on our own. Stiles,” he says directly to the man. Stiles looks back at him. “Grace and Steven and James will not be hurt or touched. They won’t. I promise you.” Stiles nods, but Derek can feel his doubt. “Nothing’s going to happen to them.

“For now, the Argent’s house will be base. We’re not going to have them coming around here and giving our location away.”

“You’re assuming that they’re leaving Beacon Hills alive,” Isaac speaks up. The way he’s sounding makes Derek’s chest feel cold. His voice is ice and his words are merciless, and even still he can hear the grin in Isaac’s voice. Derek realizes that the threat to the kids goes far deeper than _just_ the kids.

“If all goes well, they won’t be,” Scott replies with a firm nod. “You guys know which exit to use. Meet at the Argent’s in an hour.” They all stand up and go their separate ways. Stiles doesn’t move from his seat though and Derek stands next to him.

“Derek.” The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He turns around to see Allison standing in front of him with her arms crossed. She looks extremely uncomfortable. “I’m sorry you got hurt.” Derek can’t help but smile.

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

She gives him a half smile and nods and bows her head and goes off. Stiles grabs his hand again. Derek looks down at him. He sees how raw and red Stiles’ eyes are and crouches down next to him.

“I’m so afraid, Derek,” he whispers it like nobody else is going to hear it.

“I know,” he replies gently. “I’m not going to let anything happen to them.” Stiles closes his eyes and nods.

“I can’t do anything,” he says, softer still. “I am completely powerless to do _anything_.”

“That’s not true, Stiles. You’re a human mastermind.”

“I’m _human_.”

“Stop,” Derek says gently. He turns Stiles in his chair to face him and takes hold of both of his hands. He watches Stiles swallow and close his eyes. “Don’t write yourself off. You are a vital part of this pack, and you know that.” Stiles nods and opens his eyes. “Go ahead of me.” Derek stands and pulls away from Stiles.

“I’ll see you there.” But Stiles won’t look at him as he stands up and grabs his coat and starts down to the basement.

“Scott? We need to have a little chat,” Derek calls, walking down the hallway to the office.

 

Derek’s skin is still rippling when he parks his Camaro behind Scott’s car. Everything feels heightened. His eyes are catching each leaf that moves on the bushes. He can hear ants crawling across the pavement. But his sense of smell is still completely stunted in comparison. Derek’s never particularly relied on it, but he likes actually being able to pick up on the scent trail of each of his pack. It feels nice to really be back.

He walks in the front door and grins. He’s feeling power hungry. He’s feeling like tonight’s a really good night to get shit done. He shuffles down the steps to the basement and strides over to where Chris, Scott, Allison, and Stiles are leaning over a large book.

He narrows his eyes slightly. “Is this the code?”

Chris looks up with his eyebrow quirked. “Yes. You’ve never seen a copy?”

Derek shakes his head and slides next to Stiles and leans over. “What are we looking for?”

“If there’s a way for us to fight this pack without getting ourselves put back on the hunted list,” Stiles replies. His voice is low, distracted. Derek rests a hand on his lower back. “Our pack living here freely is under the condition that we don’t cause any supernatural harm to any humans. The exact terms of the agreement were never actually written down, but that’s what it all boils down to. What we need to figure out is if the Argents are actually allowed to help us without breaking any rules.” Derek bites down on the inside of his lip.

“It’s better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission, though, right?” Scott tries to offer. Both Stiles and Derek shoot him the same withering stare, though Stiles turns his eyes back to the volume in front of them before Derek does. Scott looks at him, eyes wide and confused, and Derek can only roll his own eyes in response.

“Nobody here is going to be begging for anything,” Chris speaks up, his voice thoughtful. Derek quirks a brow. He’d been thinking the same thing.

“The best thing for us to do might be for you to get in contact with that alliance you were talking about. Ask them directly if there’s anything you can do without them interfering,” Derek suggests, looking over at Chris with his eyebrows raised.

“It’s not that easy.”

“ _Make it_ that easy,” he replies. “This would be different if they were just targeting us. They’re after our children, none of which are werewolves, so they’re automatically protected under this ‘code’ of yours. They are who we’re protecting. We’re not teaming up just for fun.” Chris meets his eyes briefly, then nods.

“I’ll do what I can. It’s late. You kids go on to bed,” Chris says. Derek raises an eyebrow. He wants to make a retort of ‘kids?’ but keeps his mouth shut because Allison and Scott and Stiles all listen to him. Derek sighs. He supposes parents will always be parents, no matter how old their children get.

Derek stops by the kitchen on his way to the guest room. He grabs a mug of coffee that Chris offered him as he was leaving the basement. He feels strange, being on good terms with the man. Then again, twelve years is a lot of time for somebody to forgive someone else. He constantly wonders why his pack and all of the people he left behind never grew bitter towards him. They welcomed him back with open arms and smiles. Did they forget what a shitty alpha he had been? Turning kids who weren’t ready and being powerless to help them when they really needed it. Part of Derek still hates himself for doing that. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Looking back, it was still a good idea, but he thinks he could have handled it so much better if had just _waited_.

But Derek’s always been impatient. He lifts the mug to his lips and thinks about Stiles. He can’t really help that one. He can hear Stiles in the guest bedroom, talking to Grace about how they’ll be staying with Auntie for a while. He closes his eyes and takes a sip. He listens for the soft heartbeats of the twins, beating completely in tandem. Grace starts crying. She talks about how she didn’t want her family to get hurt, how she doesn’t want to hide here. She knows that something is going on, even though nobody has told her anything. Derek sighs.

He wonders what it would be like if Lydia had never died. He would have still come back and found Stiles happy. Though from the way he yelled at Derek, Derek assumes that Stiles never really was truly happy. But at least with Lydia, he had been content and safe. They loved each other and they had kids together, and if it hadn’t been for Derek, they would have been married. If it hadn’t been for Derek, she might still be alive. Because he refuses to believe that it was just her immunity that caused her to get sick. It was because of Peter biting her, which never would have happened if Derek hadn’t been so weak.

He likes to make believe that he’s over what he did those years ago. That he’s over how terrible of a person he was. That he doesn’t feel guilt for it. But he does. And he’s determined not to make the same mistakes. Not to screw this one up. Because he’s got more riding on this fight than pride or his own safety.

Derek sleeps on the couch in the Argent’s living room. The less that his scent gets on the kids, the better off they all are. At least that’s what he tells himself, but he knows he’s planning something big that he’s not going to admit any time soon. Something that Stiles is going to hate him for. Again.

 

“Derek!” He screams. The rain is coming down around them in sheets. Derek turns around and blinks the water out of his eyes. “Don’t you dare leave me again! After all of this, don’t you dare walk away from me again!” He’s shouting, and Derek knows it’s not just so he can be heard above the rain. So he closes the distance between them in two long strides and grabs Stiles’ head and kisses him. Hard. Like he wishes he could have kissed him the first time he left.

Stiles clutches on to his hands, and when Derek separates their lips, pulls him back. Stiles is sobbing when they part again.

“Jesus Christ, Derek. Please. _Please_ ,” he cries, looking directly into his eyes. Derek swallows and shakes his head.

“I’m not leaving you.” He pries a hand out of Stiles’ grip and pushes the other man’s hair back. “I’m not leaving.” He leans forward and kisses Stiles’ forehead. “Go home. Wait for me there.”

“Derek, I love you,” he says. Derek’s resolve wavers. He kisses Stiles one more time, tries to put as much as he can behind it because part of him just _knows_ it’s going to be a long time before he can feel those lips against his again.

“I love you so much,” he replies against Stiles’ lips. He pulls away entirely and leaves before Stiles can stop him again.

 

He’s running from something. He’s running from a lot of things, technically, but the most important one right now is the blonde haired she-witch chasing him on all fours. He can’t transform right now. Doing that would mean giving away that he’s an alpha now. Not only that, but for whatever reason, this other pack knew about the monkshood that he’d been stabbed with, and they think he’s still human. He’s putting the pieces together slowly.

_“How’s it feel to have your teeth taken away from you?” She’d practically purred. He’s cornered. She’s in front of him, the bearded wolf to his left and another man to his right, though their forms are hazy in the rain. He hears more in the distance, though. She pushes him against a tree and digs her claws into his throat. “This could all go so much more easily if you’d just hand them over.”_

_“Fuck you,” he spits. She laughs, shoving away from him._

_“While that is an enticing invitation, you’d better start running.” A sneer curls across her lips, canines protruding, so Derek runs_.

He supposes the good thing in running away from them is that he’s also running _to_ something. He stumbles into the Hale property line and almost falls in a patch of slick leaves. He can feel the breath on the back of his neck and runs faster. Derek tries not to throw up when he sees the rotted collapsed foundation of his old house. It wants to be too much, but he keeps a hold of himself. He feels claws dig into his back and he falls to the ground.

He hears Scott’s growl and the weight on his back is gone. He rolls over, feeling his skin seal itself shut. Scott has the other alpha pinned, though he’s not transformed.

“How cute,” the woman spits. “An alpha protecting his weakling of a broken beta.” Scott laughs. It’s a laugh that makes Derek uneasy, even if he knows it’s just an act. He hears footsteps behind him and picks himself up just as the bearded man wraps a hand around his throat. “Too bad there are only two of you, and far more of us.” She throws Scott off of her and he hits the ground with a thud. As she advances toward where Derek is quite literally dangling in the air by his throat, he smirks at his attacker, eyes flaring red as he extends his claws and buries them in the man’s side. He roars and lets Derek go. As he’s crumbling, Derek turns around.

“Good thing he’s not the alpha,” he growls, jerking his head toward Scott. He slashes at the woman’s neck, and she jerks back, leaving Derek’s claws to cut across her lips. She tackles him.

“Cute,” she bites back in a near hiss, teeth snapping together dangerously close to Derek’s throat. He rolls them over and pins her, driving his claws in to her shoulder. She screams and writhes under him and he digs them in further.

“You are finished here. One word and we can have your entire pack slaughtered here in the woods. Those hunters told you where to find us. Why would you listen to them?”

She laughs, spits blood at him. “You’re a fool if you think that we’re your biggest threat. Those children hold the cure for this disease in our bodies. With them, we could get rid of werewolves, get rid of hunters. We could live without fear. We could be human again.”

“Is that what they told you?” She gives him a sick smile. “You believe a bunch of hunters?”

“You’re working with them, too.”

“The only difference is that half of my pack grew up being friends with those hunters. There are ties in Beacon Hills that someone like you would never be able to understand.”

“Like you and the human boy?” Derek flexes his fingers and she winces.  “Even if you kill us, they’ll send more.”

“But if you help us, we all leave here alive.”

“Why would I help you?”

“Once you give those hunters what they want, they’ll kill you all. You think they’ll actually help you? That family is ruthless. They’ll use whoever they can to get whatever they want, and once they do, the scapegoats and the pawns will die.”

“Death is better than this.”

“Where is your pride?” Derek can’t help the swell of anger in his chest, the way he yells in her face. “Even if you were bitten, what’s been done can’t be erased. This life comes with danger and fear, but it also comes with abilities to deal with both. If you had a worthless alpha that did nothing for you, that speaks absolutely nothing to the life that you could have. Your attempt to return yourself to being human could bring about the destruction of an entire race of wolves, do you not understand that!” He shouts. He grips the fabric of her other shoulder and shakes her. “What you are doing is plotting genocide!” He’s breathing heavily as her eyes close. He shoves her down and pulls his hand out of her. Derek stands with a grimace. “She’s still alive, but weak. You know where to take her,” he says to Scott. “Tell Chris and Allison to round up the rest of this pack.”

“Where are you going?” Scott shouts, starting towards him. Derek’s eyes glow red.

“This attack was a distraction,” is all he says before he disappears into the trees and the downpour.

 

When he gets to the Argent’s house, the front door is already smashed open. He curses and runs inside. He’d ditched his shoes and his jacket somewhere along the way and his toes curl in to the carpet in the entry way as he listens. They’re still here. He can hear the footsteps. He can smell Stiles. He hears a muffled scream and a thump and his eyes turn toward the stairs.

He thunders up them, two at a time. He doesn’t bother with subtlety or control. What he doesn’t expect when he rounds the corner is to see Stiles handcuffed and sprawled lifelessly on the floor with duct tape over his mouth. He turns his eyes to the hunter; the one who had a knife in his side now holds Steven with an arm around the kid’s stomach. Derek briefly wonders why the boy isn’t struggling when he registers that it’s because he can’t. A growl starts low in his throat.

“They’re not dead,” the hunter says, as if Derek can’t hear the heartbeats. Derek’s lip twitches and he lowers himself into a crouch. There’s only one hunter here, but he’s not stupid enough to think that others couldn’t be elsewhere. “Yet,” he finishes easily, dumping Steven’s limp body on to the bed that’s in the room. Derek can’t help the low whine in his throat. Even if he and Stiles had never mated or bonded, there’s still a tie between Derek and Stiles’ children that couldn’t be explained. He feels himself start to shift, but then a chuckle comes from behind him and a bolt of rage spreads from his heart.

“I’m glad our little minions could distract you enough. Your little human friend wasn’t expecting a thing. It’s a shame, you know, how he couldn’t tell that the people at the door were an enemy.  Why did you never give him the bite, mister big bad alpha?” Derek steps into the open part of the room and turns so he can see both hunters. The one that just entered the room is tall, bulky; he practically dwarfs Derek. But Derek isn’t intimidated by him, mostly because he can smell the sickness in the man’s bones. Can hear where he’s weakest. He’s planning a round of attacks in his mind. “He could have been a powerful werewolf,” the hunter says. And Derek growls.

“Did we hit a sore spot, now?” The first says, the amusement in his voice so obvious that it pains Derek. He feels his back ripple and exhales through his nose. “Why did you never turn him?” Derek watches him as he fists the back of Stiles’ flannel shirt and jerks him up. Derek steps forward as Stiles’ head bounces off the floor. He’s met with a gun to the side of his head from the larger hunter and he freezes. He stares as the first hunter hoists Stiles to his feet and wraps an arm around his shoulders, almost like he’s being careful. “You’ve always thought about it, haven’t you, buddy?” The hunter says, fisting the back of Stiles’ hair and yanking his head back. Stiles shouts and Derek lurches forward again, only to be stopped with an electric rod shoved into his side.

He shouts and falls sideways, barely catching himself on the dresser and jerking upright. He glares at the larger hunter, who holds the rod in front of him like a sword. His lips curl back in a snarl. He shouts wordlessly as the hunter grabs the corner of the duct tape and rips it off.

Stiles chokes and gasps. Derek can see blood welling on his lips and he fights the whine in his throat. He knows he visibly freezes when Stiles turns his eyes right on Derek.

“So why didn’t you give it to him?” The hunter holding Stiles grates. Derek snarls. He flicks out a knife and presses it to Stiles’ throat, still holding his hair. “Why didn’t you?”

“I’d never put him through that kind of life,” Derek replies through gritted teeth.

“But see, now you’ve thrust him into this world with no way to protect himself,” the hunter replies conversationally, tracing the tip of the knife up Stiles’ neck. “You hate him, don’t you, bucko?” He digs the knife under Stiles’ jaw and Derek smells copper.

“Yes,” Stiles rasps. Derek chokes when he doesn’t hear a skip in the other man’s heartbeat.

“You wish he’d never come back, don’t you?” Stiles is silent. “Don’t you?” Stiles cranes his neck back and gives a slight affirming sound. Derek grits his teeth. “And why is that?”

“Because,” he says, his voice nothing but a gasp. “Because none of this would be happening if he hadn’t.” Derek’s ears are ringing. He’s trying to find some trace of lying, anything that he can hold on to and truly believe that Stiles is being pressured into saying this. But there’s nothing. Stiles is completely even toned; his heart is beating steadily; he isn’t sweating; his eyes are flicking around like they always do. The only abnormal thing is the fact that there’s a knife pressed into his flesh. Derek almost chokes again.

“I could slit his throat right now and it would be your fault,” the hunter says, pressing his lips together. He looks amused and Derek growls.

“Don’t,” he grates.

“And what do I get if I listen to you?”

“Me. You get me. Take. Me. And let him and the kids go,” Derek says, trying reason, even though his nail beds are itching and his teeth are aching and his head is pounding between his eyes. He takes a deep breath.

“But you see, we need the kids and their immunity.”

“No you don’t,” Derek says. He plays resigned. Plays like he’s giving up. “I can tell you how to mutate the cells of a werewolf. I can provide all the samples you’ll ever need.” Part of him thinks that he really is giving up.

“Why should we believe you?” The larger one spits. Derek looks over at him, lifts his head, bares his throat.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, quickly silenced with a sharp gasp.

“On your knees,” the first hunter hisses. And the way he has the knife biting into Stiles’ neck, Derek feels his knees give out in submission with consciously deciding. He drops to the floor and lowers his eyes.

“You take me under the condition that you let Stiles and the children go with no further injuries or threats. You let them walk out of this house safe and alive. And you can do whatever you want with me.” He feels his voice quaking. It spreads shame through him like fire in his chest.

“How about we do one better and take all of you?” The larger one says darkly. Derek feels the blunt prod of plastic against the side of his neck. He hears the static of electricity before it hits him, the force behind it knocking him sideways and out.

 

The first thing he is aware of is how startlingly quiet it is. Then, the sounds come flooding in. His blood, rushing fast in his veins; the beat of his heart, weak; the too fast beat of another in his head; a scream louder than anything Derek has ever heard; shouting, pleading. Derek starts and pushes himself upright, or tries to, only to find himself bound in chains. He turns his head to look toward the screaming and has to force himself not to wretch.

The hunters have Grace. She’s screaming wildly and thrashing, safe only for the fact that the hunters do seem to have a conscience regarding harming a six-year-old girl. But the person in trouble is on the floor, pulling himself up, blood staining his neck where a chunk of hair has been ripped out of his skull.

Derek goes feral. He jerks under the chains and tenses his muscles, and he can’t help it when his teeth drop down and he snarls. Stiles turns around and Derek growls louder at the bruise on his cheek and the way his shirt is cut open.

“Derek!” Stiles starts and steps toward him. He hears the creak of metal where the chains are coming loose from their tethering hold. But something clubs him on the back of the head and he sees nothing but black.

 

The next time he wakes up, there’s a body huddled next to him. It’s small and trembling. He moves instinctively to curl around it and finds himself unchained. He opens his eyes, his heart stopping in chest when he sees James, curled up and shaking in the curve of Derek’s stomach. He pulls the boy closer, unable to feel anything but fear, even as his own limbs feel heavy and drugged as well. There’s a soft whimper and Derek nudges the boy’s head with his cheek. James looks up at him, brown eyes blown wide and leaking tears.

Derek cradles his head in his palm and tucks him into his chest. James’ shaking begins to stop and Derek looks around. He’s in the same place, but the chains that had bound him are replaced by a circle of mountain ash. That explains why he feels so suffocated.

“James,” he whispers. The toddler fidgets in his arms. He’s thankful for that, at least. He can’t smell anything beyond the line of mountain ash, or hear anything beyond what a human might be able to ear. Everything is blunted. “It’s okay buddy,” he continues, voice low. He struggles to sit up, taking in his state. He’s not injured, just stuck inside a circle of mountain ash. And it sucks, but at least he’s okay. He looks down at James, immediately goes rigid when he sees the dried blood on the boy’s face. He has to fight to control the alpha raging in between his ears. _Hunt find maim kill_. It practically shouts at him and it’s all Derek can do to inhale and exhale. He licks his thumb and draws it across the boy’s cheek. It’s his own blood, not somebody else’s. There’s a cut across his forehead that’s closing. Derek can smell the healing, like honey and laundry soap, underneath the acrid stench of hurt, but it’s slow.

He grits his teeth. James whimpers, small hand flexing on the fabric of Derek’s shirt. He stills, palm resting broad and flat against the side of James’ head.

The lack of noise becomes suddenly deafening. It’s static and loud and a heartbeat starts to join it. Derek knows without focusing that it belongs to the boy in his arms. It’s slow, weak; each thump has a dull echo with longer spaces between it. A dying call and answer. Derek is calling out in agony before the heartbeat even stops, but he can feel it. He watches, tries to clutch James closer, as the toddler’s hand falls away and out to his side. At once, Derek is assaulted with other sounds, other scents, and he knows that James’ hand has disturbed the mountain ash enough for him to get away.

He stands, James still tucked against his chest. He strains against the other noises, but the slow stuttering heartbeat is gone.

The change rips through him before he can stop it. He hunches over, on both feet and one hand, James’ body tucked against him. The primal urge to protect, to save, to avenge, fills him and as he steps past the now broken seal of mountain ash, he barely registers how it feels like his blood is being drawn from his pores. He screams, he knows, but not from pain; as a warning. And if the sudden shouts and running feet are anything to go by, the right people got the message.

He crouches at the foot of the steps, muscles rippling and fur running ridges down his spine. There were times when he hoped his alpha form would be something like Laura’s. He longed to have her abilities, to run on all fours like it was meant to be; to unashamedly chase butterflies and her tail; to feel the kind of connection to the earth that he would never have. He had thought that it would come with practice, with regaining his virtue. Peter was what he was because he was nothing short of a monster. The bite brings out who you really are inside and magnifies it, after all. But Derek had always known in the back of his mind that forgiveness or not, the loss of his entire family rested on his shoulders, and in that respect, he would always be a monster. Abusing his power all those years ago; even if he was a changed man, those things would always stay with him. Which is why he can feel the inches long canines and the still too-human hands and body, simply covered in mangy fur. At least it allows for him to keep James’ body safe.

The door to the basement slams open and Derek roars, launching up the steps. He feels his teeth sink into flesh; the warmth of blood flows into his mouth, over his muzzle. And the hazy red of his vision goes sharp. His ears a deaf to the sound of gunshots, though he feels the pulse of the ignition, the stab of pain as it bites into his skin. It’s wolfsbane, he knows, but the cold and limp body curled against him keeps his senses blind to the poison. _Not yet_ , he growls. _Not until every last one of you has been torn limb from limb_. Earlier in Derek’s life, he would have been appalled at this completely ignorance of his human side.

But now. Now is different. Now, innocent blood has been spilled; innocent blood of his family and his pack and this. This is enough. He feels a feral growl rip through his throat as he clamps his jaws tight around the throat of the hunter who stabbed him all those weeks ago. He turns and backs himself against the wall, crouched, ready to rear up and strike. Bodies lay through the hallway and down the basement stairs. Not one heartbeat remains. But Derek’s ears perk. He whips his head around to see a boy – a man – in plaid and another in a plain t-shirt and he growls, holds James closer to him. The man in plaid looks stricken, takes a step toward Derek. Derek shuffles backwards, cornered between the wall and the basement door.

“—t’s me, Derek,” the plaid says. Derek snarls. “Derek!” He yells and Derek’s ears read _threat_ and he lunges, pinning the plaid man against a body that twitches and spasms when they land. The plaid man grimaces, but there’s a salt-sweet tang to his words. “It’s me, you ass!” At once, a wave crashes over Derek. His vision sharpens and the claws digging into the plaid man’s chest turn to fingers, clutching at his shirt.

“Stiles,” he gasps, voice hoarse. He pulls himself off of Stiles, tries to stand. But he feels a pain shoot through his leg and falls against the wall. “Stiles, I—“ He hears the sound of a tinny shout, and then nothing.

 

“I want him to wake up.”

“He will.”

“Promise, Daddy?”

“I promise, Grace. He’ll wake up.”

“Good. He’s good at playing house.”

 

There’s a pressure on his legs, not heavy, but it keeps him from being able to move. He reaches out his hand for something to hold on to. When it meets flesh, he feels the other person startle. A hand grabs his and holds it. For a moment, he thinks he hears a voice. But that fades and he stops feeling the hand on his.

 

“Grace, you can’t eat in Derek’s bed.”

“Auntie!”

“You can’t eat in his bed, especially not while he’s sleeping. That’s bad manners.”

“And when he wakes up?”

“… Grace.”

“Daddy promised he would.”

“Yeah, Grace. I know.”

“Daddy never breaks promises.”

“I know.”

 

“I’m starting to think I’m never going to talk to you again, Derek,” a new voice says. One he hasn’t heard the blackness. “You look like a caveman.” He feels a hand brush over the side of his face, fingertips barely grazing across his lips. He wants to open his mouth. Instead, he reaches a hand out. That same warmth from before envelopes him. “I’m here. I’m right here.” He slips back into blackness, but keeps feeling the hand on his.

 

“Can we put flowers in his hair?”

“Bad idea. Mom and dad would get angry.”

“I think we should shave off his eyebrows.”

“Daddy would laugh.”

“Maybe yours, but it’s a bad idea.”

“Don’t be such a noodle head, Nat.”

“Shut up, Alex.”

“Both of you be quiet. He’s sleeping!”

“What are you kids doing in here?”

A chorus of three voices. “Nothing!”

“Go do nothing somewhere else.”

 

Derek opens his eyes. His lids are heavy, almost refusing to open. He hears a shout, but can’t turn his head. A bright light flashes in his eyes and he swats a lead-weighted arm at it. The light disappears, only for an all too welcome face to appear in its place. Derek feels hands on either side of his face as his head is picked up and tilted.

“Morning,” he slurs. The face grins.

“Asshole.”

Derek smiles and closes his eyes.

“Don’t sleep too long.”

He shrugs a bit and lets a new, pleasant greyness slide into his head.

 

He’s sitting up in bed a week later. Grace is happily settled into his side, eating from a bowl of sliced fruit, occasionally putting one in Derek’s hand for him to bring up to his lips and nibble at. It’s always apples. His chest feels empty and his limbs are almost locked tight, but he does what he can. He can’t feel his legs still. Deaton had told him that he’d been hit by a wolfsbane bullet at the base of his spine. That it would heal, but his pelvis and spinal column had all but shattered. Derek _should’ve_ died on impact.

The door opens and Derek’s head lolls over to look at the entryway to his room at the flat. He straightens a bit, despite the shoot of pain up his back. Stiles walks in, followed by the distinct scent of calla lilies and earth. James and Steven toddle in behind Stiles, hand in hand, James’ free hand stuck against his mouth and Steven’s tangled in his hair.

He looks up at Stiles. “Surprise,” he says, a grin creeping across his lips that reaches his eyes. Derek almost goes breathless. He holds out his hand and Stiles takes it, sitting on the edge of the bed and motioning for the boys to come over. James lets go and all but runs on to the bed and flops on top of Derek’s legs. A laugh works its way out of Derek’s throat. James beams. Steven climbs up, more reserved, slower, but no less happy about it.

Stiles’ head lowers to rest against Derek’s shoulder.

 

“Stay,” Stiles says one night, lying in bed next to Derek, fingers playing absently over the skin of Derek’s palm.

“I was planning on it,” Derek replies, eyebrows raised in good humor.

“I mean with me,” he amends, though he looks guilty.

“You want this?”

“You almost died, Derek. You almost died trying to protect my son. Besides, I’m your mate and if I deny you, I—“

“I don’t want you to want this because we’re supposed to be mates, Stiles. I want you to _want_ us to be together.”

“I do want it, Derek. I wanted it before I ever even knew that mating was a thing.” Derek falls silent, unsure of how to reply. “I’ve always wanted your stupid ass. You’re the one that left me here.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Save it,” Stiles says, looking at Derek. “I know you’re sorry, Derek. We’ve been over this. And honestly? It’s okay. I get it now.” Derek looks at him blankly. “I understand why you left, and why we both needed it. That’s gone now, though.” He looks away and Derek studies his profile. “It’s done and I love you and I need you because of that, not because of some stupid supernatural soulmates thing.”

“Stiles,” Derek breathes out. The other man looks back at him. Derek takes the moment to inch forward and catch Stiles’ lips in his.

“Besides,” Stiles mumbles once they’ve parted. “Two parents are better than one, right?” Derek snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Give single parents a little credit. You turned out just fine.”

Stiles grins, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Derek’s. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Just fine.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> My artist for the bang: kennestu.tumblr.com/post/41589315744  
> Seriously, her art is way more than I expected. I am absolutely obsessed and grateful for this experience.  
>  I hope you enjoyed! If you find anything that needs commenting on, feel free to comment on it! I love constructive criticism, so please, constructively criticise away!


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